We're Growing Apart But We Pull It Together
by Dream Weaver 85
Summary: "Sometimes, two people have to fall apart to realize how much they need to fall back together." -Sylvia Plath The evolution of Sam and Jack's relationship over the years. Takes place post SG-1 S10 and post SGA S5.
1. May 2011

**May 2011**

They've been sitting across from one another for the past 20 minutes. The only sounds in the kitchen are the gentle crunches of two sets of teeth chewing cereal, and the occasional clink of a spoon against the bottom of a bowl.

Sam finds herself wishing for the rustle of a newspaper page turning every few minutes. At least the distraction of reading the morning paper would be a good reason for studiously ignoring one another.

The awkwardness that's plagued them for the last eleven days – ever since she returned from an eight-month assignment on board the _Hammond_ – is new. Even that first morning waking up together a year and a half ago hadn't been as awkward as things have been since she's been back. There's a part of her that wants to talk about it, to figure out what's changed and why, but a much larger part of her acknowledges that they're terrible at communicating and she doesn't want to waste her last three days in DC fighting with him.

Jack drops his spoon into his bowl and shoves it away. Between the sharp metallic clatter and the angry china squeaking across the wooden tabletop, Sam starts, surprised.

"Can I ask you something?" His voice is tight, frustrated. It mirrors his body language perfectly.

She fights the urge to squirm in discomfort. "Okay."

He looks at her then – _really_ looks at her – for the first time in almost a week, and his expression is painfully familiar. He's looked at her that same way countless times over the years. It's the expression he wears when he's looking to her for answers, expecting her to be able to make everything make sense for him.

The old fear that this will be the time she doesn't have the answers he's looking for squeezes deep in her gut.

"Are you happy with this?"

"With what?"

His hands hover over the tabletop, pointer fingers enacting a complicated choreography as they gesture between him and her. "This. Us. The way we are now."

Sam bites her tongue. Her first instinct is to plaster a big grin on her face and assure him that _of course_ she's happy. This, them, the way they are now is what she's been wanting for over a decade. She's supposed to be happy, ecstatic even, that they're finally free to be together and act on their feelings.

But the truth is that she's been asking herself the same question ever since she got back, and the answer isn't the stuff fairy tales are made of. Sam feels she owes him the courtesy of an honest answer. Besides, he wouldn't be asking unless he's been having doubts of his own.

"It's been… _different_ since I got back," she admits haltingly.

"_Carter_," he drawls warningly.

"I don't remember being so uncomfortable around you. Or this awkward together."

"Are you _happy_?" he says.

"No." She averts her eyes from his gaze. "I'm not _un_happy, I'm just…"

He saves her from her own inability to express herself. "Yeah, me too."

Sam blows out a slow breath, relishing the relief that it's not just her that's been feeling this way. "This isn't working, is it?"

The fingers of his right hand drum idly on the table, filling the silence that stretches a heartbeat too long. When he answers, his eyes dart to a point an inch and a half above her head. "No, it's not."

Sam bites her lower lip, her teeth worrying the flesh he's only just barely pressed his own lips to in the entire time she's been Earthside. "So what now?"

"I don't know."

The kitchen fills with the soft sounds of two sets of lungs drawing deep, slow breaths. They're both deep in thought, contemplating the enormity of ending something they waited so long for.

To avoid having to look at him, Sam lets her eyes scan their home. The small DC apartment is testament to the fact that they haven't really gelled as a couple. Two coffee makers sit side-by-side on the far counter. Assorted mugs, plates and bowls from two different sets of dishes are piled up in the sink. Hell, last time she'd been home, they'd had two microwaves because he'd insisted he needed a pizza button and she'd been unwilling to give up the handy dandy pre-programmed settings on her old unit. If his hadn't died while she was away, it would no doubt still be stacked on top of hers. For a long time, Sam had convinced herself that the multitude of duplication throughout the kitchen – and the rest of the apartment, for that matter – was simply the result of two stubborn people set in their ways moving in together.

She understands now that on some level, they both wanted to hang on to their own things in order to make ending their relationship easier. A break up has never been inevitable in either of their minds, but they've both grown accustomed to planning escape routes.

Old habits die hard.

"I'll pack some stuff to take to Daniel's and box up everything else. Once I find a new apartment…"

Jack shakes his head. "You love this place."

"So do you."

Jack gives her the look he used to level at her when she disregarded his strict orders prohibiting giggling.

"We don't have to make any decisions now," Sam reasons. "I'll be off to Nevada in a few more days."

"You know, it's not like either one of us is here very often." Jack locks his fingers behind his head and arcs his back, stretching out the kinks that come with flying a desk day in and day out. "You're out zooming around other planets on the _Hammond_ while I'm busy crisscrossing this one, playing nice with IOA members."

"So?"

Jack shrugs and drops his hands. "So maybe there's no rush for one of us to move out."

Her eyebrows arc in surprise. "You want us to break up but keep living together?"

"There's a spare room that never gets used now that Cassie spends her summers cooped up in a lab on campus." He looks her in the eye for the first time all morning, regarding her with a seriousness that belies the casual tone of his suggestion. "Besides, we're friends, aren't we?"

He's testing her. Jack is fully aware of her terrible track record with relationships. Of her tendency to cut an ex out of her life because it's easier than dealing with the fallout and facing up to her own failures. It's different with him – he's been an integral part of her life for a lot longer than they've been together – but he's testing her anyway, assessing whether or not she realizes that he's a special case.

"I haven't had a roommate since college."

"I haven't had a roommate since the last time Daniel died."

In spite of herself, Sam's lips quirk in amusement. Jack grins back, evidently pleased that he can still make her smile, even if he can't make her as happy as he'd once hoped to.

"I don't know how to do this," Sam warns a moment later. "I didn't exactly stay on speaking terms with Pete or Jonas."

"I'm not them."

"I know." This time she does squirm, uncomfortable under the weight of her past failures. "I'm just saying, I'm… not very good at this."

"Neither am I. We'll figure it out together. Okay?"

Experience says this is a terrible idea. Being together didn't work, why should _living_ together be any different? But she wants so badly to share in his faith that their friendship is strong enough to survive the failure of their romance that she finds herself nodding in agreement. "Okay."

"Okay," he repeats. Jack watches her for a long moment before pushing back from the table and getting to his feet.

Before Sam can even think about following suit, he's around the table and behind her chair. One strong, well-muscled arm wraps around her from behind, hugging her tight, and a tender kiss finds its way to the crown of her head.

She closes her eyes and accepts his affection. So long as they can hold on to this, to the warmth and friendship they've built up between them, they'll be okay.


	2. June 2011

**June 2011**

It's a much shorter trip this time, and Sam's back home six weeks and three days later. To her surprise, Jack meets her at the airport. She's unsure how she's supposed to greet him, so she's grateful when he takes the decision out of her hands, closing the distance between them and wrapping her in a bear hug.

He murmurs a warm "welcome home" into her shoulder and holds on tight.

She understands now why he made a point of meeting her here instead of waiting to greet her at the apartment after he got off work. Jack knows her well enough to know her brain has been racing at the speed of light for the last six weeks and three days, doubting the decision to continue living together and questioning whether they're simply delaying the inevitable and setting one another up for even greater hurt.

He's here to reassure her that they still know how to be friends. And maybe, just maybe, he's here to see to it that she actually makes it to the apartment.

Jack knows her well enough to guess that she's been freaking out since she boarded the flight to DC.

Sam decides to trust him. After all, in all the time they've known one another, he's never led her astray. She hugs him tightly, relaxes into his familiar hold and breathes in the smell of him that's meant "home" to her for a lot longer than she's allowed to admit.

He lets her go after a long while and transfers her bag from her shoulder to his. Sam lets him lead the way through the crowd, falling in step just slightly behind him, as she's done so many times before. The threat of slipping into awkwardness is just rearing its head when a frazzled looking couple with a gaggle of children in tow cut the two of them off. Jack is forced to slow his pace just enough that Sam pulls even with him.

She wars with herself for a moment, tempted to ease the tension but concerned about sending mixed signals. In the end, Sam decides to go for it. After all, he's already gone out of his way to ease her through the uncomfortable return to a home that feels even less like hers than it did the last time she was here. She snakes one arm around his waist and hooks a finger through his belt loop.

"Thanks for picking me up." She tightens her arm, doing her best to show Jack that he's not the only one making an effort.

The tension drains out of him. One arm slips around her shoulders and tucks her into his side while long, restless fingers trace idle patterns on her upper arm. "Any time."

Sam is under no illusions. Once they arrive at their apartment, the awkwardness will return. It will keep popping up at inopportune moments over the next few days, rearing its head whenever they tread too closely to intimacy or domesticity.

If this is going to work, they'll have to deal with the moments as they come, shoving them aside as best they can. They've done it before. When they first got together, even the smallest act of familiarity that would have been considered inappropriate for a commander and his subordinate had catapulted them deep into awkward territory. With time and practice, they'd learned to deal with it.

They have to trust that the same will hold true this time.

* * *

It's odd having her back in the apartment. Three days in, Jack is still trying to remember to put the toilet seat down and squeeze the toothpaste from the bottom of the tube and wear pants when he rolls out of bed at oh-dark-thirty to stumble into the kitchen in search of caffeine.

None of these are things he'd concerned himself with when they'd first moved in together. By the time they'd reached that stage in their relationship, she'd already known him so well he hadn't seen much point in being on his best behaviour. Now that they aren't a couple anymore, she has little reason to put up with bad habits developed over too many years of bachelorhood, so he's been trying to behave.

Because God help him, he's missed having her around even if it is just as a friend.

On the fourth day, Jack remembers to pull on a pair of beat up sweat pants before heading into the bathroom. He stops short when he sees the state the room is in. He knows with absolute certainty that he put the seat down – he checked three times before going to bed. He knows he put the cap back on the toothpaste he carefully squished from the bottom of the tube. He also knows he hung up his towel after his shower yesterday morning, and yet there it is, lying on the floor.

Distracted from his reasons for visiting the bathroom, Jack tidies up before shuffling off to the kitchen. If he's going to solve this mystery, he'll need coffee.

Sam is already there, sitting at the table nursing a gigantic mug. He grunts a greeting in her general direction, trusting that she won't take his surliness personally. Sam knows that these days he's hard pressed to be verbal before his first cup of coffee. She calls it The Washington Effect and enjoys teasing him about it just a little too much.

But today, despite being fully aware of how badly The Washington Effect has impeded his ability to communicate effectively first thing in the morning, Sam hits him with a very serious, "We need to talk."

Her tone encourages Jack to gulp the first half of his coffee much faster than is wise, given the steam rising from his mug.

"You can't keep leaving the bathroom like that, Jack."

"I _swear_ I cleaned up last night," he groggily defends himself.

"That's what I'm talking about."

"But I _didn't_…"

She gets to her feet, plants her hands on her hips and gives him a look that he suspects she kept locked down tight while under his command. "Jack, you can't keep doing this whenever I come back."

Maybe the caffeine hasn't kicked in quite yet after all. "Doing what?"

"Acting like a boyfriend trying really, really hard to convince his girlfriend that he isn't a complete and total slob."

Jack blinks at her dumbly.

Sam rolls her eyes. "How long have we known each other? Do you really think I believe you pick your towels up off the bathroom floor? Or clean up the beer caps you insist on flicking into the far corner of the living room? Or wash all your dishes as soon as you finish with them?"

"Don't forget about the toothpaste."

"The toothpaste?"

"I've been squeezing from the bottom of the tube," he admits sheepishly. He's already busted. There's no point in downplaying how committed he's been to trying to behave like a civilized person.

"Exactly!" she says. "Even _I _don't squeeze from the bottom of the tube."

"You don't?" Squeezing from the bottom of the tube seems like exactly the sort of anal-retentive behaviour she would diligently engage in.

He doesn't say so out loud, of course, but judging from the expression on her face, Sam can guess where his train of thought has headed. She cocks her head to the side, annoyed, and pins him with the most insubordinate glare he's ever seen from _anyone _throughout his long and oft insubordinate career.

"How the hell did you keep that in check for all those years?"

"What?"

"Nothing."

Sam rolls her eyes but she's smiling so he can't be in too much trouble. "Look, if this is going to work, we can't spend every waking moment worrying about how we squeeze the toothpaste or whether we washed our coffee mugs before leaving for work or if you left the throw pillows on the floor instead of putting them back on the couch where they belong again."

"Or if you forgot to put the cream back in the fridge again," he adds helpfully. After all, he's not the only one who's less than perfect.

"Or if you left your shoes lying in the middle of the hall and your smelly socks outside my bedroom. Again."

"Or if you got mascara smudges all over the hand towels because you refuse to just buy make up remover like every other woman on the planet. _Again._"

There's a beat of silence following that final, terse word. Then she starts to giggle and he starts to chuckle and all bets are off.

"We really are terrible at communicating, aren't we?" Sam is grinning like a fool. It reassures him that there are no hard feelings.

"There's a reason we kept Daniel around for as long as we did."

She shakes her head and rolls her eyes again. "The point is we both have bad habits. We can't keep tiptoeing around them and pretending they don't exist, or we'll wind up resenting each other. If this is going to be home, we both have to feel comfortable here."

"You're right." Jack takes a sip of still steaming coffee, eyeing her over the rim of his mug. "I'll stop acting like you're a guest I'm trying to impress."

Her grin softens to a warm, appreciative smile. "Thank you."

"Does that mean…"

"Pants are _not_ optional, Jack."

"Spoilsport."


	3. October 2011

**October 2011**

Jack is installed on the couch, occasionally shouting at the TV when he disagrees with a referee's call, sipping beer and generally behaving in the manner credited to the typical American male. Sam had been half-listening as she cleaned up the kitchen after dinner, amused by his increasingly creative references to the ref's lineage, up until the moment the phone rang. Now the amusing distraction is an annoying one, interfering with her ability to concentrate on the long-winded story Cassandra is rattling off over the line.

With the handset still pressed firmly to her ear, Sam marches into the living room and plants herself in front of the TV. She learned a long time ago that there are only two ways to get Jack's attention when he's this immersed in hockey, and sex is most definitely off the table.

The distraction works. Jack glares, shooing her to the side. He cranes his neck to try and get a clear line to the TV, so Sam shifts her position. Phone to her ear, hand on her hip, left eyebrow arched pointedly, she stares him down.

She knows he knows what she wants. She also knows that if he had any intention of making this easy for her, he'd have turned the volume down already.

Sam puts a hand over the receiver and hisses, "I'm on the phone."

"I can see that," Jack retorts. "_I'm_ watching the game, although at the moment, I'm not seeing much."

"It's _Cassandra_."

"It's the _Blackhawks_."

"Jack."

He tries shooing her out of the way again while Cassandra, oblivious to the fact that Sam hasn't been following the thread of her story for some time now, continues to weave her tale with great enthusiasm.

Annoyed that he's being so stubborn over something so stupid, Sam crosses to the couch and makes a grab for the remote. Anticipating the move, Jack shifts the black plastic rectangle to his other side and tucks it under the throw pillow he passionately hates except when it's helping him one up her. She lunges for it and then they're wrestling, alternately trying to maintain possession of the magic little machine and liberate it from the other.

Sam is winning, up until the moment Jack resorts to fighting dirty. His long fingers wriggle against her rib cage. The effect is instantaneous. Her knees buckle and she collapses, half on him, half on the couch, in a giggling mess of tangled arms and legs.

"Oh for crying out loud! Are you _seriously_ making out with Jack while you're on the phone with me? " Cassandra says, reminding Sam that she was supposed to be playing the role of dutiful aunt, listening to a long, winding tale of college exploits.

Sam breathlessly denies the accusation, but Cassandra is too caught up in her disgust.

"You two are _so much worse_ than teenagers," the young woman declares before hanging up.

Sam disconnects the call on her end and carelessly tosses the receiver aside. "Cheater."

Jack shrugs, unbothered by the accusation, and flashes her a smug grin. "All's fair in love, war and hockey."

"Yeah well, the next time Cassie starts in about needing therapy to cope with the trauma of catching us…" Sam trails off, flushing bright pink when her brain catches up to her mouth.

To his credit, Jack manages to limit his reaction to a minor grimace.

Avoiding meeting his eye, Sam quickly untangles herself and gets to her feet. "I should finish cleaning up…"

Jack's fingers wrap around her wrist, keeping her from bolting. "Sam."

"Tomorrow's garbage day," she adds even though it doesn't matter. The garbage chute isn't going anywhere.

"It can wait until the game's over," he says.

"But…"

"Sam. Sit and watch the rest of the game with me."

"I don't even _like_ hockey."

"Liar." Jack gives a firm tug on her arm, and then she's sitting beside him on the squishy cushions that give just so under the weight of multiple occupants and send the two of them leaning ever so slightly into one another.

"I don't like the Blackhawks."

"You'll be happy to know they're losing."

Sam rolls her eyes. He's being obtuse on purpose. "Jack…"

"Don't freak out on me," he says quietly. "You were goofing around. We both were. I'm not reading anything into it and neither should you."

She takes a deep breath, fighting to clamp down on the instinctual need to run as far from uncomfortable emotional territory as possible.

"Watch the rest of the game with me." Jack's voice is low and gentle. It's the voice he's used to reassure her more times than she can count over the years and it's that familiarity more than his words that convince her to stay right where she is.

"You said the Blackhawks are losing?"

"Badly. They're down three and it's only halfway through the second period."

Sam adopts a light, playful tone, determined to put the awkwardness behind them. "Why didn't you say so?"

Jack resumes his comfortable slouch against the couch cushions. "Because I knew you'd enjoy my pain."

She gives him Teal'c's patented skeptical double eyebrow raise. "Your pain?"

"They're my hometown team and they're _losing_."

"You're from Minnesota."

"But I was born in Chicago. And besides, it's not like the Wild are ever going to win the cup."

She snorts, amused by his rationale.

Jack waits a beat and then pats her knee. "See? That wasn't so hard."

"What?"

"It got awkward for a minute, but we waited it out and now we're back to normal. Well, as normal as we ever get."

Sam smiles warmly at him. "You're right - not hard at all."

"You know, one of these days we're going to have to get around to telling her we aren't in the habit of making out anymore."

"I know."

"If that's not girl talk, I don't know what is."

"I'll tell her if you tell Daniel and Teal'c."

Jack actually has the gall to snort at her proposal. "No way in hell."

"Why not?"

"Because I may be 'as a brother' to Teal'c, but you're 'as a sister' to him and I have no desire to get my ass handed to me by a 160 year old Jaffa."

"You think he'll take it badly?"

"I think he'll take your side. Daniel too."

Sam rolls her eyes. "There are no sides, Jack."

"I know, but I don't like the odds of getting the two of them to hold off kicking my ass long enough to explain that to _them_."

"Jack…"

He sighs, but relents. "Fine. If you tell Cass, I'll tell Daniel and Teal'c. Deal?"

"Deal."

The next moment the TV blares the scoring of another goal, distracting them both. Jack curses when another point goes up against the Blackhawks, Sam takes the opportunity to swipe his beer, and they slip back into the groove that's growing a little more comfortable every time they're both home for overlapping periods.

As Jack goes back to trash talking the ref, Sam settles in for the long haul. If he plays his cards right, she may let him steal his beer back.

Eventually.


	4. February 2012

**February 2012**

When Jack snaps awake in the middle of the night, he's disoriented. He knows something must have woken him, but he hasn't got a clue what that something might be. The alarm isn't beeping at him and the phone isn't ringing incessantly. As far as he can tell, there's no good reason for being awake.

Or so he thinks, until a fearful cry rings out down the hall.

Jack's moving before his brain has finished processing the sound. He's out of bed and through the door before he realizes he's violating the rule about pants. Sam's been gone for three months and in that time, he's gotten used to having the apartment to himself. He only makes a habit of casually flaunting the ground rules when he's alone, but under the circumstances, he's pretty sure she'll forgive him this infringement.

Probably.

He's halfway down the hall when she cries out again, and then pants are the furthest thing from his mind.

"Sam?" He pounds on the closed bedroom door with his fist, but there's no response.

He bangs a little harder and repeats her name a few more times. When it becomes clear that she won't be answering anytime soon, he opens the door and steps into the room for the first time since it became her room and not just a guest room they never used.

She's tangled up in her sheets, desperately twisting away from whatever is haunting her sleep and whimpering quietly. The room smells faintly of sweat; she's been trapped in the nightmare for a while.

Jack crosses to the bed, speaking the whole time so as to avoid startling her should she wake up. "Sam, you're okay. You need to wake up now."

Nothing.

He sits on the edge of the bed, just out of range, in case she comes up swinging. "Open your eyes, Sam."

Still nothing.

One hand goes to her sweat slicked shoulder, the other hovers just above the opposite hand, ready to block a blow. He shakes her firmly, still talking. "Wake up, Carter!"

She stiffens beneath his touch. Wide blue eyes snap open and scan the room, searching for threats. She makes to swing with her right hand, but Jack pins her wrist to the bed before she can build enough momentum to shake him off.

She's becoming as bad as he is.

"You're okay, Sam. It was just a dream."

Her eyes meet his through the dark. He can tell when she finally breaks free of the dream's hold. There's a spark of recognition, then she goes limp. While she tries to slow her ragged breathing, Jack wills his racing heart to ease up. She's a little shaken, but she's been through much worse than a bad nightmare and lived to tell the tale. She'll be fine, just not in the next five minutes. He can relax now.

Or something.

Long minutes later, she shakes him off and sits up. She runs a hand through her long blonde hair, pushing the sleep tousled locks back from her face. "Sorry."

"Not your fault. You want anything? Water? Tea?"

"I'll be fine. You should head back to bed."

"I'm wide awake now." Adrenaline tends to do that to a person.

"Sorry."

"Stop – I know you can't help it. It's no big deal." He gives her his best General Stare, and, miracle of miracles, it works. She stops looking embarrassed and goes back to looking badly shaken up instead. "Want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

Jack nods in understanding. "Why don't you go wash your face?"

Without another word, she bolts for the bathroom. He's under no illusions. Jack knows he offered up an easy out and she pounced on it. He's just glad she hadn't gotten around to throwing him out of her room first. Ever since they moved into separate bedrooms, they've been pretty diligent about respecting one another's privacy. They share just about everything else, but their respective bedrooms are off-limits. The fact that she's in no rush to kick him out says a lot about how far they've come in strengthening their friendship since ending their relationship.

Even though she hasn't said anything, Jack decides not to linger. He makes his way to the kitchen, fills the kettle with fresh water and goes about making the tea that Sam hasn't asked for, but hasn't declined either.

When she reappears looking slightly less shaken, Jack hands her a steaming mug of chamomile. She accepts it without a word and then makes a beeline for the couch.

Jack is torn between following and respecting her obvious desire for privacy. He's not sure what his role is tonight. He knows how to help her through her nightmares as a commanding officer, as a friend, and, much as he hates the word, as a boyfriend. He doesn't know how to help her work through them as a roommate she sees less often than she sees her XO.

He finally decides a little friendly concern isn't likely to be out of line. Standing at the arm of the couch, he spends a few minutes watching her stare into the mug cradled in her still slightly trembling hands "You're staying up?"

"Won't be able to get back to sleep."

"You feel like some company?"

"You've had a long week."

"You've had a long few months," he says, voice gentle. "So, company, yes or no?"

She hesitates briefly before nodding. "Please."

Glad that she's willing to help him navigate this unfamiliar territory, Jack gets comfortable on his end of the couch. He props his sock clad feet up on the coffee table, realizing too late that the move flaunts the fact that he's still in boxers. It doesn't seem to be bothering her – this time – so he decides to stay put, pants be damned.

"I don't want to talk about it," she says tiredly.

Jack shrugs. "You don't have to. We can just sit here and… watch _The Simpsons_?" His voice turns hopeful with the suggestion.

In spite of her somber mood, she manages a small smile. "Yeah. That sounds good." She pulls the thick quilt off the back of the couch and arranges it over the pair of them while Jack gets the DVD going.

If someone had told him five years ago that he'd succeed in getting the great Samantha Carter hooked on his favourite TV show, he'd have laughed in his or her face and asked which planet's happy juice they'd been indulging in. Yet here they are, staying up late into the night with their favourite animated family, and not for the first time.

It takes two and a half episodes before Sam really starts to relax. Her shoulders slowly retreat from the vicinity of her ears and she leans a little further into the overstuffed couch with each passing minute. By the time the third episode comes to a close, she's managing to chuckle right along with him.

When the time comes, Jack gets up to swap discs before she has the chance to. Now that she's finally unwinding, he doesn't want to disturb her. "Want some more tea?"

"No, thanks."

"Water?"

"I'm good."

Jack could do with some coffee right about now, but the last thing she needs is caffeine, and there's no way she'd let him sit in the same room sipping away while she goes without. So instead of giving into his body's demands, he resumes his position on the couch and gets comfortable once more.

He does his best to hide his surprise when Sam shifts to tuck her cold toes under his thigh, as she'd done so many times back when they were still a couple.

"Thanks," she says simply.

"Anytime."

"I know you're tired. It's okay if you want to go back to bed now."

"I'll sleep when you sleep."

She musters a tired smile as she snuggles deeper into the couch. Just a few minutes into the next episode, her breathing settles into a slow, steady rhythm. A short while later, once he's sure she's out for what little is left of the night, Jack joins her in slumber.


	5. July 2012

**July 2012**

When Jack gets home a little after 1700 hours, hot and sweaty from one of his far too infrequent runs, he's pleasantly surprised to be greeted by a gear bag stowed just inside the door and the muted spray of water pounding from the showerhead in the bathroom.

Sam's early return has thrown off his schedule a little, but he doesn't mind. Provided she's made it home in one piece – and knowing her luck, it's entirely possible that she hasn't – she just might be willing and able to spare him from attending another one of the president's fancy pants dinners solo.

Jack can't keep the grin off his face as he toes off his running shoes. He pads into the kitchen in his damp, smelly socks and grabs a beer from the fridge. Because Sam is home a few days early, he hasn't had time to clean up the way he usually does but he tries to make up for it by thoughtfully disposing of his beer cap in the garbage can. He's two sips in when the shower shuts off. He gives her the space of two more sips before heading for the bathroom.

"Welcome home!" he calls through the closed door.

"Sorry to surprise you like this. I wasn't expecting…"

"As long as you're back because the mission wrapped early and not because you're sick, hurt or otherwise out of commission for the foreseeable future, this is exactly the sort of surprise I like."

A moment later, the door opens. Still dripping, Sam greets him with a big smile and an enthusiastic hug. He's happy to return it. The well-worn fabric of her sweatshirt is damp beneath his hands, suggesting that in her excitement, she'd thrown on clothes prior to drying off properly, but Jack couldn't care less about that.

No bumps or bruises or blood. No stitches or slings or splints. No cuts or casts or crutches. He lets out the sigh of relief he's been waiting five months, three weeks and four days to breathe.

"The president ordered us home early and with the upgrades to the _Hammond's_ hyperdrive, we managed to shave an extra day off the return trip," she explains into his shoulder.

"Hey, I'm just happy to see you in one piece." He says it lightly, but they both know he worries about her when she's away. Some things never change, no matter how much others might. "Since you're here, how do you feel about…"

"The president's dinner?" She steps back, then reaches back into the bathroom for a towel. As she sets to work drying her hair – which is a good three inches longer than it was the last time he saw her – she pins him with a knowing look. "I know all about it, Jack, and it had better not be the reason you're so happy to see me."

"It's not the _only_ reason," he says defensively. "It's definitely in the top five though."

She grins as she squeezes by him and makes a beeline for her bedroom. "Hit the shower. We need to be out the door in 45 minutes."

"Right. Because it's really _me_ that's going to hold things up."

He's missed watching that blonde eyebrow arc accusingly. "Last time we had to go to one of these things, you waited until the last minute to decide you needed to shower and shave, press your uniform and polish your shoes."

"That was strategy."

"The strategy being that if it got late enough, we wouldn't have to go anymore?"

He smirks and rocks back on his heels. "Exactly!"

She rolls her eyes and disappears into her room, closing the door behind her.

"You know you missed me!" he calls through the door.

"Goodness only knows why!"

As Jack strips off his sweat soaked t-shirt, the first strains of a classic rock song can be heard from her bedroom. The familiar sounds of Sam getting ready for a night of hobnobbing with the Washington bigwigs brings a smile to his face.

It's good to have her home.

* * *

Twenty minutes after arriving, Sam is steering him through the crowd, making sure he talks to all the people he should talk to but, if left to his own devices at this sort of function, would spend the night dodging. She hasn't even let him grab a drink yet, insisting that he needs one hand free for shaking at all times, and, as if to preempt the argument that he has two hands for a reason, refuses to relinquish her hold on his other arm.

She knows him too well. If given half the chance, he'll slip out, abandoning her to the mucky mucks. He may be a firm believer in never leaving a man behind, but every rule has its exceptions.

Besides, when she's wearing that damned evening gown that matches her eyes perfectly and shows off the curves he'd once been very well acquainted with, it's hard to argue that she falls into the category of "man" and she knows it.

They've just finished the requisite grip and grin with the last of the joint chiefs when the president arrives to whisk them away. Their commander in chief absolutely adores Sam, and it's no mystery why. She's got more than a decade of intergalactic adventure under her belt, a brain that can run circles around the best supercomputers Earth has to offer, and more charm than just about everyone else he gets to meet with in a given week _combined_. The fact that she's a hell of a lot nicer to look at than his other military advisors probably doesn't hurt either.

The attention makes her uncomfortable, but she grins and bears it like the trooper she is. Knowing that she's got it worse than he does makes it easier for Jack to put up with the overly enthusiastic handshakes and jovial chit chat. Still, it's times like this when he really misses Henry Hayes.

"Jack! I trust you enjoyed our little surprise," Hayes' successor says. He pumps Jack's arm for all he's worth and shares a conspiratorial wink with Sam.

"It was certainly a surprise, Mr. President."

The shake is mercifully short. After four or five good, strong pumps, the other man's attention is diverted to Sam. He clasps her free hand between his, then leans in and pecks her cheek.

"I'm just sorry we couldn't get you and your crew back a bit earlier in the day. I hope Jack had enough time to give you a proper welcome home before you made your way here tonight." He winks at her again before shooting Jack a knowing grin.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jack notices Sam's smile take on a more forced quality. The hand nestled securely in the crook of his elbow squeezes pointedly, but Jack just pats her fingers and shifts his weight slightly, putting just enough pressure on her freshly painted toes to get his point across.

"We're… happy to be here, sir." Jack offers what he hopes looks like an earnest grin and pats Sam's fingers again.

The president opens his mouth to say more, but an aide intervenes, whisking him away to meet with the Ambassador of Such-and-Such. The leader of the free world sticks around long enough to shake Jack's hand and kiss not just one but both of Sam's cheeks. Then he's gone, leaving the two of them alone.

Which would be a good thing, if not for his parting words. "One day soon, you're going to have to make an honest woman out of her, Jack. We could do with a good wedding around here."

As soon as he's out of earshot, Sam rounds on Jack. "What the hell was that about?"

Jack tries playing dumb, figuring it's pretty plausible, since he _is_ dumb, compared to her. "What?"

"Jack…"

"The president sort of doesn't know that we aren't together anymore."

"You haven't told him?"

"I know it's hard to believe, but it hasn't exactly come up in our conversations about crew deployments or planetary defense or off-world operations. Besides, you still haven't told Cassandra."

"You haven't told Daniel and Teal'c."

"I thought we agreed I didn't have to tell them."

"We did no such thing, and you know it." Sam delivers the reminder along with a sharp pinch to the sensitive skin at his elbow. "I can't believe this is happening! We broke up over a year ago and the only people who know it are you and me!"

"To be fair, in that whole time you've only been home for three and a half months. And we _are _still living together. I can understand where the confusion comes from."

She rolls her eyes. "Jack, if the _President of the United States_ is expecting us to get married sometime soon, don't you think Daniel and Teal'c and Cassie are checking their mailboxes for wedding invitations on a pretty regular basis?"

"Probably," he admits grudgingly. He releases her arm and turns to face her properly. "Look, I'll tell the guys the next time I talk to them. In the meantime, can we just enjoy the fact that you're home?"

The faint lines time and tension have etched into her skin are deeper than usual, thanks to the frown on her face. "You promise you'll tell them?"

"I promise." He squeezes her bare shoulder, silently thanking whatever actual gods may be out there for returning her safely yet again. "Now, let's relax and grab some drinks. After all, I still have to give you a proper welcome home." He waggles his eyebrows suggestively, doing his best to look every bit the scoundrel.

"And your idea of a proper welcome home is…?"

"Cake!"

She grins and loops her arm through his. "Deal."

Arm in arm, they wind their way across the packed hall, navigating around big wigs that would love nothing more than to monopolize their time. Since everyone believes they're still a couple, they might as well use it to their advantage.

He may not be the man elated to have the love of his life home, but tonight, that man looks a lot like the guy thrilled to have one of his best friends back on terra firma. If confusing the two leads everyone else to give him and Sam some time alone together, Jack is happy to let the mistake go uncorrected.

* * *

The key turns in the lock exactly fourteen minutes earlier than usual. Sam mutters a curse under her breath and hurriedly swipes the knife back and forth a few more times. She'd been counting on having those last fourteen minutes to finish up, but apparently that had been too much to ask for.

Trust Jack to use any excuse to escape from the office early.

"Sam?"

"In here."

The slightly longer than usual silences between his footfalls on the hardwood floor indicate there's a bounce in his step. It's strange to hear that particular cadence in his walk on a Tuesday when there are still three more long workdays to slog through – at least – but there's a reason for his good mood today.

"Do I smell… Cake!" Jack says happily as he pokes his head into the kitchen.

She turns and waves five icing coated fingers at him in greeting. "Surprise!"

"What's this for?"

She shrugs, content to play dumb for a little while longer. "Just because."

"Well you've got good timing." Jack bounces on the balls of his feet and grins proudly.

"Oh?" Sam licks the icing off her thumb while she waits for him to explain his downright giddy behaviour.

"I met with the president today."

"That doesn't usually put you in such a good mood." He plays nicely when required, but Jack doesn't like the new administration as much as he liked Henry Hayes and his people. She just hopes it's less obvious to the new people than it is to her.

"He doesn't usually pin another set of stars on my shoulders."

Sam breaks out in a genuine grin, glad she can drop the act now. "Congratulations!"

Mindful of her sticky fingers and the mess they can make of an immaculately pressed dress uniform, Sam gives him a careful hug. Since it's a special occasion, she doesn't protest when Jack takes advantage of the fact that her back is turned and swipes a finger full of icing from the side of the cake.

"Curious that you just happened to bake a cake on the same day the president promoted me, isn't it?" he asks casually.

"Indeed." She's noncommittal, doing her best impersonation of Teal'c.

"And that you were ordered to bring the _Hammond_ home a few days early for no particular reason."

"I'm sure the president had reasons, he just chose not to share them with either of us," she says, playing dumb.

He drops his chin and tucks his face into her shoulder. "He told you he was promoting me today, didn't he?"

Busted.

"He kind of had to."

"And why, pray tell, did he have to?"

Sam breaks the hug and steps back. "How closely have you looked at those extra stars?"

Jack cranes his neck and leans to one side, trying to get a good look at the new hardware recently pinned on his left shoulder.

"That one was General Hammond's. You've got one of my dad's on the other side."

He straightens up in surprise. "What?"

"The president gave me a head's up when all the paperwork went through," she explains. "I slipped them to him at the dinner on Saturday."

"Sam, I appreciate it, but I can't accept your dad's star. You're going to need it one day."

She shrugs. "He had more than one."

"You're going to need them all, and then some."

Sam smiles, warmed by his confidence in her. Even after all these years, even after seeing her falter in her meteoric rise up the chain of command as priorities and career goals changed, he still believes she'll make it to the top one day.

"He'd want you to have it, Jack. So would General Hammond."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

He nods and offers her a grateful smile. "Thank you."

"You deserve it," she assures. "Now, go get changed for dinner. We've got plans"

Even though they're not together anymore, Sam still thinks it's adorable when his face falls in disappointment. "Do I have to?"

She schools her features into her most serious expression. "Yes, Jack. No arguments."

"But…"

"The pizza will be here any minute."

Right on cue, he perks up. "Pizza?"

"Pizza," she confirms, grinning. "Go get comfortable."

"Have I told you lately that you're incredible?"

Her smile falters for just a moment. He'd said the same words to her countless times back when they'd still been together. Jack takes a split second longer to realize what he's said. When he does, his eyes telegraph an apology even before he can form the words.

"It's fine," she assures.

"I didn't…"

"It's fine," she repeats more forcefully. Then, plastering a bright smile on her face, she adds, "After all, I _am_ pretty amazing."

"Yes, you are," Jack says quietly. In the blink of an eye he's closed the distance between them, kissed her forehead, and made his escape from the uncomfortable reminders of what they no longer have.

She lets him go. They both need a few moments to regroup, otherwise this evening that's supposed to be about celebrating his promotion will become an awkward event they won't be able to escape from quickly enough.


	6. October 2012

**October 2012**

Sam's been on Earth for five weeks, but the eggheads over at Area 51 managed to dangle enough fascinating alien toys before her that she's only been in Washington for two. They'd chatted almost nightly, but still, Jack missed her. Despite all the time he spends alone while she's zipping around the galaxy, the apartment always feels loneliest when she's on Earth, but away.

What he misses most are the sounds of another person sharing his space. It's not that Sam's loud. Quite the opposite, save for when she's chattering away to the plants he mostly manages to keep alive in her absence. What he really misses is the quiet swish of a turning page in the latest science journal or the gentle clacking of her laptop keys as she works on her next book about wormhole physics. They're sounds he's associated with Sam for as long as he's known her.

That's not to say, however, that he doesn't appreciate the sounds he'd never in a million years have imagined hearing.

He's a few feet from the front door when one of those sounds registers. A heavy bass line is pounding from inside the apartment, muffled by the thick walls. The music offers great cover – there's no way she can hear his key in the lock over the noise.

Careful to keep quiet, Jack slips inside the apartment and stops short.

There, bopping around the living room, a stack of books in hand, is Sam. The dark walnut shelves lining the back wall of the living room are mostly barren, but there are dozens upon dozens of books from their combined libraries spread out on the floor.

Jack is proud of how far she's come. A few years ago, she'd have been home for all of five minutes before giving in to her anal retentive compulsions and alphabetizing the shelves.

He doesn't recognize the pop song blasting from the souped up stereo, but it's no surprise that Sam does. All the time she spends at the gym when she's Earthside tends to leave her with a remarkable repertoire for Cam Mitchell's karaoke nights. She never knows what a song is called or who it's by, but she always has perfect recall of the lyrics.

Jack leans one shoulder into the wall and settles in to watch the show.

Sam dances from one pile to another, sorting titles, head moving in time with the beat and hips swaying ever so slightly from somewhere inside the far too large for her grey sweatpants. Oblivious to her audience, she sings along.

"… I want your love and I want your revenge…" she sings loudly, with little consideration for pitch or tone.

There are a number of things at which Samantha Carter excels. Singing is not one of them.

For the first time, Jack wishes he'd let Cassie talk him into getting a camera phone the last time he'd had to upgrade his cell.

"I want your love, I don't want to be friends…" she trails off slightly, depositing an armload of books on the shelf. A few lines of French blast from the speakers. Sam ad libs, subbing in, "Some-thing in French only Dan-iel understands. Blah blah blah, I don't want to be friends…"

Without turning around, she points the remote over her shoulder and switches the station. Another pop song pumps into the apartment, bass thudding off the walls.

Even though he's going to have to reset the station presets – _again_ – this is _so_ worth his upcoming quality time with the stereo's instruction manual.

Sam only needs a few seconds before that scary smart brain of hers identifies the song and supplies the appropriate lyrics. She bends to grab another armload of books then sashays over to the appropriate shelf, singing once more.

"… dun-dun-dun out, blood and fire. Bad decisions, that's alriiiiiight. Welcome to-o-o-o my ridiculously science fictional life… Mistreated, misplaced, misunderstood, Miss 'No way, it's all good,' it didn't slow me down. Mistaken always second guessing, underestimated, look I'm still around…"

With the books in what she considers their rightful places once more – Jack prefers them organized by size and shape, but his opinion doesn't seem to count for much in these matters – Sam turns to gather the next batch.

When her eyes land on Jack, they go as wide as he's ever seen.

"You're home!" she says over the music. Her embarrassment is palpable.

"I am." He knows full well he'll pay for it later, but he just can't wipe the shit-eating grin off his face.

Sam hurries over to the stereo and turns the volume way down. "How long have you been standing there?" she demands.

"I got home right around 'Something in French only Daniel understands'," Jack reports gleefully.

Her cheeks flush bright pink which only makes the whole scene that much more memorable. "You're never going to let me live this down, are you?"

"No." Jack's grin gets even wider.

"Figures."

"Exactly how often does this little show run?"

"One time only. Sorry."

"Damn," Jack says with mock disappointment. "I was really looking forward to grabbing a beer and catching a repeat performance."

He may be several years removed from field duty, but Jack still has the instincts to duck from the throw pillow fired his way. He strategically retreats to the safety of his room.

It takes some time, and he'll probably have trouble finding his preferred station again, but the two minutes it takes to find that last song he caught her singing are worth it when he cranks the volume on his clock radio and is treated to Sam's aggrieved "Ja-ack!"

It's nice to know that even after so many years, there are new sides of Sam just waiting to be discovered.


	7. November 2012

**November 2012**

It's odd to be the one with the apartment to herself for a while. Jack is off playing nice – she hopes – with the Chinese government, negotiating for the continued secrecy of the stargate program. He's been gone for a week and in all that time, he's only managed to send off one quick e-mail letting her know he'd arrived safely, and a longer note venting his frustration with the diplomatic process.

It's strange coming home to an empty apartment at the end of the day. Sam has gotten used to knowing that even if she beats him home, before long Jack will be installed beside her on the couch, fighting over what they have for dinner and which games they watch and cracking wise about the latest made-for-TV sci-fi movie, because after all this time, he finally gets why she loves them so much.

Sam is no stranger to loneliness. She's used to being away, holed up in a lab at Area 51 with only her fellow scientists for company, or zipping through space, cut off from her friends and family. But ever since she and Jack moved in together, she's gotten used to the idea of home being more than just a series of rooms filled with stuff. He's now an integral part of her idea of home, and she suspects the same holds true for him.

For the first time, she appreciates what it must be like for him, with all of her comings and goings.

One night when the loneliness is really dragging at her, Sam picks up the phone and calls Cassandra. She means to break the news about her relationship with Jack when she's got the freedom to talk without fear of him overhearing, but once Cassandra begins unloading on her, Sam can't bring herself to mention the break up. Cassie is freaking out about grades and acceptances to PhD programs. She doesn't need anything else to worry about right now.

Instead of sharing her own, albeit dated, news, Sam winds up playing the sympathetic aunt, letting Cassandra vent for well over an hour. When they finally hang up, the young woman is feeling much better and Sam is feeling only slightly guilty about putting off the inevitable for a little while longer.

Surrendering to boredom, Sam begins flipping through the multitude of channels Jack insists he needs. Nothing holds her attention, though, and when the phone rings on her fourth pass through, she's grateful for the distraction.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Sam."

The familiar voice on the other end of the line brings a grin to her face. "Daniel!"

"It's been a week and we aren't at war with China yet. I just wanted to call and see if Jack _actually_ went with the diplomatic delegation."

"Ten dollars says Major Davis is being run ragged, keeping him from causing an international incident."

"No bet." It's a wise choice. "Are they still due back on Wednesday?"

Sam tosses the remote aside and reaches for her glass of wine. "Last I heard. Why?"

A few thousand miles away, Daniel laughs at her. "You really have no idea what next weekend is, do you?"

Sam wracks her brain, running through her mental list of birthdays and major holidays. "Holy Hannah, I forgot about Thanksgiving!" Daniel laughs a little harder. "It's not funny, Daniel! I talked to Cass less than an hour ago and I didn't invite her over! She's going to think…"

"She's going to think her favourite aunt lost track of time again," he says sagely. "Besides, she knows she doesn't need an invitation to visit."

"Still, I should have…"

"Sam, relax."

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. Daniel waits to hear her inhale again before continuing.

"Teal'c is going to be around that weekend, so I thought maybe the four of us could get together."

"What about…"

"Cam's mom made him promise to bring Vala hom for the weekend. His parents think she's a riot."

Sam grins at the memories of Vala's past visits to the Mitchells. For a couple of small town retirees, they handle Vala's outrageous personality pretty well.

"That would be great." It's been two and a half years since the four of them managed to all be in the same place at the same time. They've managed to get together in pairs or, on rare occasions when the universe truly smiles on them and allows their schedules to sync up, threes, but it's been far too long since the four of them have met up.

"Jack's going to be jetlagged enough already. I figured Teal'c and I could fly out there on Thursday morning and stay through the weekend, if that's all right with you?"

"Absolutely," she agrees easily. By the time she realizes what she's done, it's too late to take the invitation back. Her voice tight with barely contained but rapidly rising panic, she recaps, "You and Teal'c. Here. All weekend. With us."

"Cassandra too, if we can pry her away from her books."

"All three of you. Right. Great. Sounds… Good."

"Is everything okay?"

"Fine! Better than fine! Great, even. Why?"

"Your voice sounds strange."

"I think I'm coming down with something," she fibs.

"Get some rest."

"Yeah, I will."

She can sense Daniel frowning from several states away. "Are you sure everything's okay?"

"Everything's fine," she says, trying to keep her voice even. "Listen, I should call Cassandra back and let her know…"

"I'll let you go," Daniel says easily. "But seriously, Sam, get some sleep. You've been pretty hard at it lately."

She smiles at the warm concern in his voice. "And you haven't?"

"Not like you have. Take care."

"You too." Then she disconnects, dropping the phone to the couch and her head into her hands. "Crap! Crap! Crap!"

In a few short days, their cozy little DC apartment will be filled with people who, in the more than two years since they broke up, she and Jack have neglected to inform about said break up.

Jack is going to kill her.

* * *

The universe is not smiling on Sam Carter. Immediately after getting off the phone with Cassandra, she'd e-mailed Jack. She assured him that everything and everyone was fine, then proceeded to all but beg him to call at the first opportunity, any time, day or night. Long hours later, he'd e-mailed back, saying he wasn't sure he would have the time and politely demanding further assurance that things were all right back home. She'd assured him they were, then reiterated the importance of calling ASAP.

He didn't get a chance to reply before boarding the flight home.

Jack was due to arrive back just before Sam had to leave for work, and she'd hoped to have a chance to talk to him then. But of course, that plan fell apart when bad weather diverted the flight, forcing an unplanned stopover while waiting for the storm to blow over. Sam had been forced to leave before Jack had returned.

She'd been antsy and distracted all day long, but she'd managed to stick out the day doing mindless administrative tasks. Had she been involved in any sensitive lab work, she'd likely have blown a sizeable chunk of the Pentagon sky high, so, much as she loathed it, admin work had probably been the right priority for the day.

Sam had arrived home, hoping to be able to speak with Jack immediately. His hastily scrawled note had put the kibosh on that idea pretty quickly though. He'd arrived home a little after noon, exhausted from the longer than usual flight, and made a bee-line for bed where he'd warned he may very well stay until dawn the next day.

With nothing left to do but wait and worry, Sam had launched into a more thorough cleaning than the apartment had ever been subjected to before.

She's on her hands and knees scrubbing at the grout between the kitchen floor tiles with a toothbrush when a long shadow falls over her.

"Whatcha doin'?" Jack's voice is rough with sleep and his hair pokes up in four dozen different directions, making her smile despite how much she's dreading the coming conversation.

She's up and wrapped around him a split second later. "Welcome home."

"It's good to _be_ home." He squeezes her tightly and ducks his head, tucking his face into her neck. "Is everything okay? Your e-mails sounded… Off."

"I'm fine," she assures.

"You sure?"

"Yeah." She takes a deep breath and then steps back, breaking the hug but leaving her hands resting lightly on his forearms. She winces and admits, "I may have made a mistake while you were gone."

"Oh?"

"I may have invited Cassandra, Daniel and Teal'c here for Thanksgiving. Tomorrow."

"_May_ have?"

"Actually, I _definitely_ invited them."

"And they're coming here."

"Yes."

"Tomorrow."

"Yes."

"Oi."

"Yeah." Sam grimaces again. "I'm sorry. Daniel called out of the blue and mentioned getting together and I just…"

Jack gives her shoulder a firm squeeze, silencing her ramble. "It was only a matter of time."

"I'm really, _really_ sorry."

"It's not your fault, Sam. If we'd told them sooner, this wouldn't be happening."

"They're going to be angry it took us this long to get around to telling them we broke up."

"Some welcome home." The hug he pulls her back into takes the sting out of his words. "This is _so_ not going to shape up to be the weekend I was hoping for, is it?"

"Probably not." Sam leans a little further into him. "I'm really…"

"Stop apologizing," he chastises lightly.

"We've got to tell them when they get here. No more procrastinating, no more excuses," she says into his shoulder.

"Yeah." Jack breathes in and out slowly. "How much sleep have you gotten since Daniel called?"

"Not much."

"Me either, so let's put this stuff" – he gestures to the cleaning supplies arrayed on the floor – "away and call it a night."

"This is really going to suck, isn't it?"

"Probably, but there's nothing we can do about it now."

"Yeah." She grimaces again. "You should go back to bed. You look terrible."

"Why thank you, ma'am." The dark bags under his eyes take away from the grin he flashes her. "Promise you'll call it a night soon?"

"Promise."

"Good." Jack leans in and kisses her forehead before heading back to his room. "Sleep tight."

"Night, Jack."

She's a bit relieved that he hasn't blown a gasket. There's still plenty of time left for that though, so she doesn't allow herself to relax too much.

This is _so_ going to end badly.

* * *

By some fluke, Daniel and Teal'c's flight lands within 20 minutes of Cassandra's. The young woman's adopted uncles kill the time people watching in the bustling arrivals terminal. The three of them share a cab to Jack and Sam's apartment and Cassie regals them with tales of her latest exploits and fun facts recalled from her courses.

The fact that the three of them all arrive at once is a blessing for Sam and Jack. There's so much chaos during the happy reunions that there's little opportunity for the supposed happy couple to interact with one another. Despite the fact that they broke up over a year and a half ago, and despite the fact that none of their friends are aware of that fact, they haven't technically lied to anyone about their relationship yet. They don't intend to start now, whether through words or actions.

Jack and Sam had agreed to break the news to their friends once everyone had settled in, but in the time it took the quintet to make their way into the living room, Teal'c was deep into an update on Ry'ac and Karin. At the end of his spiel, both Sam and Jack jumped up to get drinks for everyone. When they returned, Daniel was spilling the latest gossip from the SGC, and they were loathe to interrupt him.

Before they know it, the sun is going down, and they've still yet to break their news to the happy group gathered in their living room.

When their Chinese takeout arrives, Cassandra follows Jack to the door. Neither he nor Sam thinks anything of it, but in hindsight, they should have exercised a little more caution with respect to her movements through the apartment.

"Why is all of Sam's stuff in the guest room?" Cassandra demands sharply.

Jack and Sam look up from dishing out the food, twin looks of panic on their faces.

One hand on her hip, the other clutching the strap of her overnight bag, she shifts impatiently. "Well?"

"What are you talking about, Cass?" Daniel asks. A puzzled frown mars his face and Sam knows this is going to to about as badly as she's been expecting.

"I was going to drop my bag off in the spare room." Cassandra pins first Sam and then Jack with an accusatory glare. "It turns out Sam's stuff is already in there."

Jack and Sam trade guilty looks.

"About that…" he begins before trailing off.

"There's something we've been meaning to tell you. All of you," Sam says.

"Is everything okay?" Daniel asks.

"Of course it's not okay! If it were, they wouldn't be sleeping in separate beds!"

"Cass, honey, why don't you sit down and let us explain?" Jack says. His voice is firm but gentle.

She does as she's told, dropping onto the couch beside Daniel. He curls an arm around her shoulders and looks expectantly at his friends. For his part, Teal'c simply raises an eyebrow and waits them out.

Jack takes a seat in the overstuffed armchair, leaving Sam to perch on the arm. A united front.

"Do you wanna…?" Jack asks.

Sam nods and takes a deep breath. "Things really weren't working out between us, so Jack and I decided it would be best if we just…"

"Broke up," Cassandra supplies.

"Yeah."

Daniel blinks at them in silence for a few beats. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"You were on a dig at the time."

"I haven't been on a dig for six months!"

"Do you mean to tell us you have not been romantically involved for six months?" Teal'c asks, seeking clarification.

"Not exactly." Sam ducks her head, hiding behind a curtain of blonde hair.

Jack takes this as his cue to speak up. "It's been about a year and a half now."

Teal'c's eyebrow reaches new heights.

"Excuse me?" Daniel and Cassandra demand in unison.

"We decided it wasn't working out and the longer we spent trying to force it, the harder it would be on our friendship." Sam flashes Jack a tight smile before continuing. "Neither one of us was willing to risk losing that, so…"

"But you two waited so long to be able to be together!" Cassandra protests. It's like they're ripping away her faith in the possibility of lasting love and happily ever afters, which, in a way, Sam supposes is exactly what they're doing.

"I don't understand. Whenever I call the apartment, I wind up talking to one of you, if not both of you."

"Yes." Jack drums his fingers on his knee, obviously wishing the conversation would end.

Daniel pegs him with his most exasperated expression. "Why?"

"Because we both live here, Daniel," Jack says impatiently.

"I fear this time it is I who does not understand, O'Neill."

"We both like the apartment, so when we broke up, Sam moved into the spare room and I kept the master."

Sam shrugged. "He's here more than I am. It made the most sense."

"Let me get this straight. You broke up _a year and a half ago_, but you've lived together all along?"

"Technically we only live together when we're both, you know, here. It doesn't happen all that often," Jack reminds.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Cassandra demands.

"It never really came up."

"In a year and a half?"

"Not really, nope."

Cassandra shrugs off Daniel's arm and gets to her feet. "I'm going for a walk."

"I will accompany you, Cassandra Fraiser," Teal'c says, making to follow.

"No, thanks. I'd like to be alone for a while."

Sam and Jack both wince but they let her go. She's an adult, even if she does stomp out the door and let it slam shut behind her like she used to do as a teenager. Besides, they live in a safe area.

The four former teammates sit in silence for a while, lost in their own thoughts. After a while, Daniel pinches the bridge of his nose and asks, "Sam, can I talk to you alone for a minute?"

She sighs but gets to her feet anyway and leads the way to her bedroom. It's not the most private place they've ever spoken, but it will have to do. Daniel follows her, shutting the door behind him.

"Are you okay?" he asks, voice gentle and sympathetic.

"Yeah."

"I mean with…" he twirls a hand around to encompass not just her room, but her living situation as a whole.

"I'm fine, Daniel. We both are," she says defensively.

"I can see that, and I'm glad," he assures. "I'm just trying to understand. All the times I've seen you two or spoken to you in the past two years, you've both seemed so happy…"

"Because we are."

Daniel holds up a hand for silence. "Happier than you were when you were a couple. And considering how long you two spent waiting for your chance to be together, that's… Surprising."

"Yeah, I know."

"Honestly, you two seem closer now than ever before."

Sam smiles then, a real, genuine smile. "We are."

"Okay." Daniel nods thoughtfully. "Then I'm happy for you."

"I'm sorry we didn't tell you sooner."

"Sam, I had _no_ idea that you two had split up. I've never seen either of you more at ease with the other than you have been since your super secret break up. If this is working for you guys, then that's all that matters to me."

"You're not angry?"

"No, not angry. A little hurt, I guess, but I'll get over it." Daniel shrugs. "It's not really about me."

Sam closes the distance between them and hugs him tight. "Thanks, Daniel."

Her voice catches ever so slightly, a fact Daniel doesn't miss.

"Hey, you guys are family. I want what's best for you, and if that's _this_, then I'm all for it." He rubs her back lightly, trying to ease some of the tension in her spine. "Sam, you don't ever need to be afraid to talk to me. Okay?"

She nods against his shoulder. "Okay."

* * *

"Stop looking at me like that," Jack says firmly. Teal'c's expression remains unchanged, though his head does tilt slightly to one side. "I haven't done anything wrong."

Teal'c's head angles another ten or fifteen degrees, but still, his expression remains unchanged. Even the infamous Double Eyebrows of Doom are riding at half-mast.

"We _both_ agreed it was for the best, so keep your Jaffa revenge thing to yourself." Jack resolves not to say anything more until Teal'c does, or at the very least changes up his expression marginally.

He manages to sit in silence for a whole minute before his impatience gets the best of him. "All right. _What?_"

That Jack is actually able to detect Teal'c's amusement is testament to how long they've known one another. "I have said nothing, O'Neill."

"You're thinking it."

"For what reason did you and Colonel Carter keep this from us, O'Neill?"

"Because it was nobody's business but ours," Jack retorts, even though he knows it's not true. There are a lot of people who's business it isn't, but Teal'c and Daniel aren't on the list. Both men have been in the background quietly supporting him and Sam for a long time. Jack's relationship with her is about as much their business as it is his own.

Jack sighs, then admits, "Because we didn't really know _how_ to tell you, I guess."

"Did you cause one another harm?" Teal'c asks patiently.

"Of course not."

"Were you unfaithful to one another?"

"What? _No!_" Jack splutters.

Teal'c frowns at him. "Then I do not understand."

"Look. I still _love _her, just not the way I used to. She deserved better than for me to keep pretending I felt more for her than I did, and she felt the same way, so we decided we were better off as friends. We did what was best for us, and we're not going to apologize for that, okay?" Jack says. His patience is wearing thin from the interrogation.

Teal'c actually smiles this time – a sight that still takes Jack by surprise most of the time. "I merely meant that I do not understand why you were ashamed to share this with us."

Jack scrubs a frustrated hand through his hair, annoyed with himself for spilling so much more than he really had to. "Right."

"You and Colonel Carter are family to me, O'Neill," Teal'c reminded. "I merely wish for the both of you to be happy, as does Daniel Jackson. If that happiness is something you cannot bring to one another, than I am pleased you have terminated your romance."

"Can we not talk about it like that? It sounds very… mechanical."

"And that bothers you?"

"You know me and technology," Jack says flippantly. "It's more Sam's thing."

Demonstrating somewhat better timing than usual, Daniel chooses this lighter moment to poke his head around the corner. "Guys, Sam is wondering if it's okay for her to come out now?"

Jack shoots a quick look at Teal'c. "We good?"

"Indeed."

"No Jaffa revenge ass kicking?"

"Not at this time, O'Neill."

"Sam, get out here quick before he changes his mind!"

She does as she's told, trailing Daniel into the living room. Despite the unexpected turn their Thanksgiving has taken, she manages a small smile. "I'm really sorry, Teal'c."

"It is done, Colonel Carter." He is, Jack notes, far quicker to forgive _her_.

Her smile relaxes into something a little more natural. "Do you think we should go after Cassandra?"

"Give her some time," Daniel suggests gently. "She'll come back when she's ready."

"In the meantime, we should do something about all this," Jack says, gesturing to the bags of takeout abandoned on the coffee table. "Cass can heat up the leftovers when she gets home. Sam – help me round up plates for everyone?"

She's hot on his heels as he leads the way into the kitchen. Daniel and Teal'c are no doubt on to them, but Jack doesn't care. Both men have made it clear there are no hard feelings, and, as far as Jack is concerned, that's that.

He tucks around the corner of the door and leans in close to Sam. "Everything okay?" he asks, voice pitched low.

"Daniel said he's never seen either of us as happy as we are now," she shrugs. "He's okay with it."

"How about you?"

Another shrug.

"Teal'c's okay with it too," Jack reports. "Actually… I don't know why we didn't tell them sooner."

"Because admitting we couldn't make things work between us feels an awful lot like failure, and that's not something either one of us is used to?"

It's Jack's turn to shrug. "Maybe."

Sam inhales a long, slow breath and lets it go slowly. "Are we good?"

"Not quite." Jack puts his arms around her for a bear hug. As she leans into him, he dips his face into her shoulder. "There, _now_ we're good."

"What about Cass?"

"Daniel's right – she needs some time. She and I will have a little chat later."

"She has a right to be angry. We're the closest thing she's got to parents, and we've spent over a year forgetting to mention that we've split up. Throw in how long she's spent rooting for us to get together…"

"She _does_ have a right to be angry," Jack agrees. "But she's also old enough to talk to us about her feelings," he reminds. At times, Cassandra can be even worse than he is at talking things out.

He remembers well the weeks and months after losing Janet Fraiser, when a much younger Cassandra had been so focused on her own feelings about her mother's death that she'd shown no consideration for anyone else's. At times she'd been downright cruel to Sam – not that Sam had ever said so. He'd learned about those instances from Cassandra herself – lashing out about everything from her adopted aunt's long hours at the base to her increasingly serious relationship with Pete Shanahan. It had taken a long time to heal some of the rifts that trying time had created between Sam and Cass. Jack won't let this fiasco create any new ones.

* * *

Teal'c puts away enough to feed a mid-sized army, but the others merely pick at their food. Though he shares in her lack of appetite, Jack pointedly adds a mish-mash of items to Sam's plate, warning her with a look that she'll do well to eat up.

Some things never change.

The food has largely been abandoned – even by Teal'c – when a sheepish Cassandra slips through the front door. Her reluctance to join them is palpable.

"Grab a plate, kiddo," Jack welcomes, trying to ease her back into the gathering.

"Actually, I was hoping I could talk to you and Sam first. Alone," she adds, flashing an apologetic smile at Daniel and Teal'c.

"We were just going to clean up." Daniel gets to his feet and shoots Teal'c a pointed look. "You know, in the kitchen."

"Indeed," Teal'c agrees, following his lead.

Cassandra's smile is more open this time. "Thanks, guys."

Both men squeeze her shoulder as they file past, each bearing a load of dirty dishes. They make a point of creating a racket in the kitchen, cutlery clanging and tap running at maximum. It's not much but it's the most privacy they can offer at the moment.

"I guess I owe you guys an apology," Cass says. She shifts, uncomfortable, but makes no move to take a seat. "This is your home – I shouldn't have assumed…."

"Let's get one thing straight: this is your home too, Cass," Jack interrupts.

"You are _always _welcome here, honey, no matter what," Sam adds.

Some of the awkwardness about her eases. "Still, I shouldn't have gone snooping around."

"Yeah well, you get that from Daniel." Jack ignores the good-natured _thwack_ Sam delivers to his bicep.

"Why didn't you tell me you'd broken up?" Cassandra asks, shifting gears. "I mean, it's been a long time. You've had plenty of opportunities to tell me the truth."

"It was wrong of us to keep the truth from you," Sam admits. "There's no excuse for misleading you – or anybody else – the way we did."

"That's not 'why,' Sam," the younger woman says waspishly.

"Did you ever ask how things were going between us?"

Cassandra shoots a glare Jack's way. "I asked you first."

"We never lied to you, Cass. You never asked about us, you just assumed everything was hunky dory. Everyone did," he points out. "It was a lot of pressure."

"Pressure. Right. Because that's such a new thing for you two."

"_Cassandra_." His voice is a gentle warning to tread lightly.

"She gets the sarcasm from you, you know," Sam says helpfully.

"I'm aware."

"_That_ is why I never asked about your relationship! You two go on like an old married couple! You can't be _surprised_ everyone assumed you would eventually actually become one."

Jack and Sam trade a bemused look. They can acknowledge that there's at least a smidgeon of truth to that.

She's on a roll now, hands waving in a manner eerily reminiscent of Daniel. "I mean, you guys used to be in danger of spontaneous combustion from all the UST, and now you're pulling a Will & Grace!"

"UST?" Jack asks.

"Pulling a Will & Grace?" Sam adds a beat later.

Cassandra rolls her eyes, exasperated. "God, you two are _so old_, sometimes! UST is an acronym for 'unresolved sexual tension' and 'Will & Grace' is a 90s sitcom about a straight girl and a gay guy who live together in a weird pseudo-marriage."

"Hey!" Jack protests, indignant.

Sam grins, providing no back up whatsoever.

"See? This right here? This is that old married couple behaviour I was talking about."

"This is two old friends being comfortable with one another, Cass."

Jack quirks an eyebrow at Sam. "Who's old?"

Cassandra tilts her head slightly – now channeling Teal'c, it seems – and studies them thoughtfully. Uncomfortable under her scrutiny, Sam and Jack exchange an awkward look.

A long time later, Cassandra shares what's on her mind. "Huh. You _are_ comfortable with one another."

"So?"

"So I don't think I've ever seen one of you this comfortable when the other is around." She smiles then, and even though they've still got a lot of hurt feelings to make up for, Jack and Sam know she's more or less forgiven them for lying by omission for the better part of the last two years. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm happy for you guys."

Sam blinks at her, surprised. "You are?"

"Yeah." Then she flashes them a wicked grin. "Don't think you're getting off easy though. You're going to be making this up to me for a long, _long_ time to come."

"I figured as much," Jack says wryly. He gets to his feet, walks around the coffee table and pulls the closest thing he'll ever have to a daughter into a warm hug. "We _are_ sorry, kiddo."

"I know." She snuggles into him, just the way she used to when she was a little girl, and holds an arm out to Sam. The group hug is on.

"We never meant to hurt you, honey." Sam strokes her hair, smoothing down the long, slightly wind blown locks.

"I know that too. I _am_ hurt, but I'll get over it."

Sam lets Jack pull her and Cassandra closer, savouring the all too rare opportunity to have both of them here. Over the last few years, there have been too many holidays that saw her off in space or Jack swamped with work or Cassandra too caught up in school to make it back to DC.

For the first time in far too long, the three of them are together, and Daniel and Teal'c are just a few feet away. It's not perfect, it's not what she used to imagine on the rare occasions she allowed her mind to wander and envisage having a future and a family with Jack, but it's what they've got.

Right now, what they've got feels pretty damn near perfect.

* * *

When Jack hears a soft knock on the door, he calls out permission to enter, _sotto voce_.

He's not surprised when a slightly tousled blonde head pokes around the doorframe.

"Hey."

"Hey," Jack returns, gently. He tosses aside the remote and sits up a little straighter, adjusting the pillows behind his back. "How did girl talk go?"

Sam shrugs. For the first time since they'd shared the master bedroom, she crosses the threshold and settles at the foot of the bed. "She's still hurt, but I think we're going to be okay."

"Good."

Sam ducks her head, peeking at him from behind a curtain of hair. "Are _we_ okay?"

"We've always been okay, Sam. As far as I'm concerned, nothing's changed."

She chances a glance at him, assessing whether he's telling the truth. Apparently satisfied, she lets out a long, slow breath, relaxing through the exhale.

"Is she getting up to help get dinner started in the morning?"

"Yeah. She doesn't think we can manage without her."

"Well, you _are_ a terrible cook," Jack teases lightly.

"Please. We have the fire department on standby when you barbeque a hot dog."

"One time! And it wasn't even my fault. Daniel…"

"Daniel changed the channel in the closing seconds of the Stanley Cup final. I know."

They're grinning at each other in the flickering light of the TV. At times like this, it's easy to see why the others never suspected they might break up one day.

Sam thumbs over her shoulder, indicating the living room. "I'm going to call it a night."

"Do you want to take my bed tonight? I can sleep on the couch," Jack offers. It's easier to act chivalrous around her now. She doesn't jump down his throat or get up on her soapbox to rail against special treatment on account of her gender. Usually.

"No, you really can't. You need to be able to bend enough to lift a 25-pound turkey in and out of the oven tomorrow. That isn't going to happen if you sleep on the couch."

"Ouch, Carter. Way to make a guy feel good old."

"Poor baby," she retorts with a wicked grin.

"Just for that, I'm revoking my offer. You're sleeping on the couch tonight."

"That'll teach me."

She's a split second too fast ducking out into the hall. The pillow he lobs her way lands harmlessly on the floor.

"Night, Jack!"

"Good night, evil woman!"

"Spare me!" Cassandra shouts from the spare room.

Jack grins as Sam's giggles fade down the hall. It's good to have both his girls home.


	8. January 2013

**January 2013**

It's Sam's turn behind the wheel. Every few minutes, she takes her eyes off the icy road ahead for a split second, just long enough to catch a glimpse of the others all squished into the back seats.

Cassandra and Vala have hit it off like nobody's business, much to Daniel's chagrin. The pair had claimed the backseat as their eminent domain and, after spending the first few hours of the trip whispering conspiratorially and giggling like maniacs, are now zonked out leaning against one another.

Fifty miles out from the cabin, Teal'c slipped into kel'no'reem, abandoning all pretense of being able to tolerate all of his human friends in such close quarters. His meditation killed Daniel's hopes of passing the trip playing board games; Cameron refused to play anymore after getting his ass kicked in four straight games of chess and two games of Scrabble. The two have spent the past few hours dozing, leaving Jack to keep Sam company up front.

For the most part, they're quiet. The muted strains of the radio fill the vehicle. They keep the volume turned down low, allowing the others peace to sleep.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Jack shift his weight and wince. He catches her watching, and tries to cover up his discomfort by leaning forward to change the radio station.

"You okay?" she asks quietly.

"Fine." His voice is tight. After all these years, Sam recognizes the tone he uses when struggling to mask pain.

"I've got some Advil in my bag." She expects to find herself on the receiving end of a scowl. Instead, he flashes her a sheepish look.

"I know. I helped myself the last time we stopped for gas."

She winces sympathetically. It takes a lot to make Jack voluntarily medicate. "Are they helping?"

"Not enough."

"Do you want to get out and move around for a few minutes?"

Jack glances out the windshield, studying the road ahead. "Nah, don't want to risk it in this."

He's right, of course. The roads are slippery and they've already encountered a few stretches of black ice. Throw in the winds that have been picking up steam since they crossed from South Dakota into Nebraska, blowing a thick wall of snow across the highway, and the conditions are less than ideal for a roadside stop.

They aren't exactly ideal for driving either, but Cassandra has a flight to catch and a new semester to start, and Landry is expecting SG-1 back in time for a mission two days from now. Besides, Jack has been monitoring the weather for the past few days and he hadn't foreseen any problems heading back today.

"There's an ice pack in the cooler," she suggests.

He snorts, admittedly with good reason. "Why, exactly, were you concerned about keeping the leftovers cold in _Minnesota_ in _January_?"

She glowers at him anyway. Sam refuses to let him get off easily on principle. "Ten years on SG-1 taught me to expect the unexpected."

"Really? Seven years on SG-1 taught _me _thatanything that can go wrong will, and it will always be Daniel's fault."

It's Sam's turn to snort.

"I can hear you, you know." Daniel pipes up, voice gravelly with sleep. "And for the record, it wasn't _always_ my fault when things went wrong."

"Eight years on SG-1 have taught me it's always your fault, if for no other reason than because you failed to keep Princess in line," Cameron says, throwing his two cents into the mix.

This sparks a bout of good-natured sniping between Daniel and Cameron. This time, anyway, Jack leaves them to it, content to sit back and let someone else rile Daniel up. He periodically flashes wide grins at Sam, obviously enjoying himself.

She lets the boys go about their bickering and slowly, their voices fade into little more than background noise. She's so focused on driving that she doesn't notice it's her turn again until Jack changes the station on her behalf.

"Un-freaking-believable," Daniel mutters, just loud enough to break out of the white noise zone.

"What?" Jack twists to glance at the others.

"You two." Cameron clarifies.

"What?" It's Sam's turn this time.

"You change the station after every song." Daniel's using his professor voice now, and, a quick glance in the mirror confirms it, wearing the matching professor face.

"So?"

"_So_ Sam used to smack my hand away if I even reached to adjust the volume, and Jack, you used to make me promise to sit on my hands whenever we took your truck anywhere."

"Only because you have a reputation for touching things you shouldn't," Jack says.

Daniel glares at him. "Funny."

"True."

"Sam!"

She checks the rearview in time to see Cam shrug. "When they're right, they're right."

Daniel's narrowed eyes sweep across the teasing trio. "_Anyway_ it's weird how you two share airtime now."

"You've been at the SGC for _way_ too long, Daniel. You have a _seriously_ messed up definition of the word 'weird'."

"I think it's cute." Cassandra's voice is entirely too bright for someone who had been deeply asleep up until a few minutes ago. "Especially when you guys agree on a song."

Sam and Jack exchange a puzzled look. "Why?"

"You do things with your eyebrows," Vala adds helpfully. "It's like a whole negotiation with a few twitches."

"Indeed," Teal'c says without opening his eyes.

"We do not."

"Do too."

"Do not."

"Do too."

"Don't make me stop this car!" Sam warns, only half teasing.

Two chagrined voices chorus 'sorry.' The van is quiet for all of thirty seconds before Vala pipes up again.

"It _is_ cute. Definitely the sort of thing I'd expect from an old married couple."

Sam can feel Jack's eyes on her. She risks a glance over at him and takes in his exasperated expression. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" he asks.

The angle of his left eyebrow tells Sam all she needs to know.

"It won't do any good. The _Odyssey_ would find their locator beacons right away."

Jack feigns disappointment but the big goofy grin on his face gives him away. "Damn."

Sam feels an answering grin taking shape on her own face. Another quick glance in the rearview proves she's not the only other person on board wearing one.

_Operation: Family Christmas in Minnesota_ has been a resounding success.


	9. April 2013

**April 2013**

Anyone who bothered looking too closely would realize pretty quickly that Sam's the one leading Jack around the ballroom, but he doesn't care. He's so happy to have her here that he doesn't even mind being stuffed into his dress uniform and playing nice with the usual Washington mucky mucks.

Well, he doesn't mind it much.

He and Sam are arm in arm, making the rounds of all the decision-makers and dignitaries they need on their side in order to continue funding the stargate program at current operational levels. Even the bigwigs who aren't particularly fond of the program are eager for a few minutes of their time, and Sam is going out of her way to ensure all the cheque writers go home happy.

It's still not something he's comfortable with, but after so many of these shindigs Jack has gotten used to being greeted with various levels of awe. Insulated as she is when jet-setting around the galaxy, Sam is much less used to the kind of attention she's getting tonight.

Like Jack, she's seen as something of a legend. She's a bona fide hero, a pioneer in the field of wormhole physics, and – as the slinky black evening gown she's wearing tonight makes abundantly clear – an attractive woman to boot. Jack very much doubts anyone would mind if he slipped out and caught the last half of the Blackhawks game at the nearest sports bar, just so long as Sam sticks around.

But he never leaves his people behind and despite all the trappings of civilization, Jack knows some of the biggest scumbags they've ever encountered are in this very room tonight. So he sucks it up and lets Sam steer him from one inane conversation to the next, shaking hands and smiling politely in all the right places.

Things are going well enough up until the moment the president sidles alongside the pair of them, grinning broadly.

"Colonel Carter," he greets warmly, taking her hand. "I'm glad you could make it tonight. You're looking lovely, as always."

As she usually does, Sam flushes bright pink and dips her head slightly, embarrassed. "Good evening, Mr. President. Thank you very much for inviting me – it's a wonderful party."

Jack's always been jealous of her ability to maintain her easy grace under pressure. He extends a hand to the president.

"I don't have a say in planning them, you know," the president says heartily, still clasping her hand in his. "I just put on whatever my wife lays out for me and go where they tell me to. For all the power of the presidency, I'm at the mercy of my three social secretaries."

Finally, their commander in chief lets go of her and turns his attention on Jack. "I couldn't help but notice you still haven't put a ring on one of those miracle working fingers, son."

Out of the corner of his eye, Jack sees Sam grimace. The slender, ringless fingers tucked in the crook of his arm grasp the sensitive skin in the bend of his elbow and squeeze. Hard.

"Ack!" Attempting to cover his less than macho squawk, Jack quickly adds, "...tually, Mr. President, there's a very good reason for that."

Apparently satisfied that Jack is finally going to keep his promise and clue in their commander in chief, Sam disengages. "If you'll excuse me, Mr. President, I've just spotted General Kerrigan."

"Of course, Colonel. You be sure to find me again later in the evening. The First Lady will never forgive me if I let you sneak away without saying hello."

"Yes, sir." She flashes them both a nervous smile, then bolts for the other side of the ballroom.

The president watches her go, doting smile still plastered on his face.

Jack can't believe she suckered him into this. Sam's the one the president adores. The news will go over much better coming from her. But Jack's still a sucker for that wide-eyed, pleading expression she used to unleash when she wanted five more minutes off-world with an alien doohickey, so he'd agreed to be the one to have this awkward little chat with the most powerful man in the world.

So help him if the President of the United States unleashes the 82nd Airborne…

"You'd better get a move on, Jack. One of these days that genius IQ is going to kick in and she's going to realize she can do a hell of a lot better than you," the president teases jovially.

Jack grimaces. It's time to bite the bullet. "She already has, sir."

The president regards him blankly for a few beats before comprehension makes his face fall. "Talk to her, son. I'm sure you two can work things out…"

"No, sir, I don't think we can. It's been a while now."

"Women are just about infinitely patient when it comes to the idiocy of their men. Apologize to her and…"

"Actually, Mr. President, breaking up was my idea – the best I ever had." Jack glances over his shoulder.

Sam is huddled in the back corner of the room, grinning widely and talking animatedly with her old mentor. Jack can't help but smile at how effortlessly she charms her way through these events. She hates them almost as much as he does, but unlike him, Sam took careful notes during the better part of a decade worth of Daniel's diplomatic dealings.

"Do you realize how much creative restructuring of the chain of command it took for you two to be allowed to get together?" The deep frown on the president's face warns he's taking the news about as well as Jack feared he would.

"Yes, sir, I do. And we're both very grateful for all that you did for us." Jack stuffs his hands in his pockets and returns his attention front and centre.

"What happened?"

"We realized we're better off as friends." Jack shrugs, at a loss. He doesn't know why things worked out the way they did, but he's grateful anyway.

The platonic relationship he and Sam have now is uncomplicated. It's a wonderful contrast to the romance they'd tried to make a go of. There's no tension, no drama, no gnawing fear that one-day she's going to wake up and realize she deserves better.

On the rare occasions they both sit down to a meal at the same time, he looks into her eyes and sees contentment in place of the doubt that clouded her face back when they'd still been playing at normalcy. He's not sure that she's happy and he's too much of a coward to ask, but he knows she's satisfied with what they've got.

That's good enough for him.

"How long ago did you two come to this decision?"

Jack plasters his best innocent expression on his face. "I don't remember, sir."

"Bullshit, Jack."

"It's been a few months," he replies cagily.

The president raises his left eyebrow in a way that suggests Teal'c's been dropping by the White House a bit too often lately. "How many is 'a few'?"

"Oh, three or four …" Then, because contrary to the griping he does whenever he gets dragged to these social functions, Jack _does_ actually like the president – most of the time – he amends his answer. "… Give or take twenty."

"Excuse me?"

"It's been almost two years now."

"_Two years?!"_

Jack shrugs helplessly. "Yes, sir. Give or take."

"Hell, Jack, you two really _are_ better off as friends. I had no idea!"

"Yeah, we get that a lot." He glances over his shoulder again, but Sam is still busy with Kerrigan. Sometimes, but not often, she's no help at all. "Mr. President, we _do_ appreciate everything you did to give us a chance, and we wanted to tell you sooner, we just didn't know how."

The president offers up a sheepish grin, assuming the affable persona that served him so well on the campaign trail. "I suppose I didn't make it easy."

"By constantly asking when I was planning on proposing to her? No, sir."

"What can I say? I'm a sucker for a good love story. If anybody ever deserved a happy ending, it's you two."

"Well if it makes you feel better, sir, I think we've got one."

The president glances at Sam briefly before returning his attention to Jack. "So do I, son."

It's clear he wants to say more, but an aide chooses that moment to lean in and whisper something in his ear. Jack is grateful for the reprieve. Talking to his commander in chief about his relationship with Sam is even more awkward than tap dancing through the occasional veiled conversation George Hammond had felt the need to have with him on the subject, once upon a time.

The president makes his apologies and extracts another promise that Jack and Sam won't leave without stopping by to say hello to the First Lady. Then he's off, shaking hands with Ambassador So-And-So, leaving Jack alone in a sea of dignitaries.

Of course, in a sea of dignitaries, there's always someone eager to strike up a conversation with the head of Homeworld Security, so the alone part doesn't last for long. Before Jack knows it, some stuffed shirt is pumping his hand eagerly and gushing over what an enormous pleasure it is to meet him.

Jack is saved from having to lie that the pleasure is all his when a familiar arm slips through his.

"Excuse me, Senator, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to steal General O'Neill away. General Jumper needs a moment with him." Sam's voice is warm and genuinely apologetic. It seems to do the trick.

Senator What's-His-Face releases Jack's hand, shakes Sam's, and then walks away in search of someone else to schmooze. Sam handles the brush-off so adroitly that the man doesn't even seem to realize that he, the distinguished senator from wherever, has been waved off by a lowly USAF colonel.

Jack dips his head to murmur in her ear. "How the hell did you know that guy was a senator? _I _didn't know who he was, even after he introduced himself!"

Sam rolls her eyes. "It's called 'C-SPAN,' Jack."

"Smart ass."

"No, really. He was on C-SPAN the other day demanding the president reinstate DADT." Sam urges him into motion, steering him in the opposite direction of Senator Whosit.

"Oh." Then, because he _really_ hates these shindigs, "Can we go home now?"

"Not yet. General Jumper wants to see you."

"I thought you were just saying that to save me from the good senator."

"Five minutes, Jack. Then five more with the First Lady. _Then_ we can go home."

He pouts. "Fine."


	10. September 2013

**September 2013**

When Sam slips into the apartment a little after eight o'clock in the evening, she doesn't realize she isn't alone. She's changed out of her dress blues and heated up a white cardboard container of assorted Thai leftovers before she notices Jack is camped out in the living room.

He's sitting in the long shadows of the early autumn evening, lights out, TV off. Oblivious to his newfound audience, Jack is staring down a harmless looking cardboard box.

Sam watches in silence, waiting for his finely honed combat instincts to alert him to her presence. Long minutes later, she realizes they aren't going to; it's up to her to announce her arrival.

"Jack?"

He jumps – not much, just enough to let her know she's caught him completely off-guard – and flicks his gaze to her ever so briefly. "Hey."

No explanation for his uncharacteristic behaviour appears to be forthcoming. Sam decides to bite the bullet and try to coax some answers out of him.

She abandons her dinner on the dining room table and crosses the room to take a seat beside him on the far end of the couch. "What's in the box?" she asks, voice carefully controlled.

"Home movies," he murmurs. His eyes are locked on the box again. "Sarah had a bunch of them converted to DVD. She sent copies."

"Oh." Sam bites her lip, undecided. Even after all these years, he doesn't talk about Charlie. He's come a long way – he has pictures of his son set out in his office now, where others can see them and ask questions – but the pain of Charlie's death is still raw. She doesn't want to pry but she suspects this time he needs her to do exactly that. "Have you watched…"

"No."

"Are you going to?"

Jack takes a slow deep breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth. When he looks up, eyes locking on hers, the mask he so often wore in the field is firmly in place. "Watch them with me?"

Sam fights to keep her surprise locked down tight. "Me?"

Her uncertainty visibly shakes his resolve. His expression hardens into carefully schooled neutrality as he begins backtracking. "Forget it. It was a dumb idea…"

"I want to," she interrupts quickly. "I mean, if it's okay with you."

Jack looks away and reaches for the box. He rips into it with single-minded determination, committing to this course of action before he can rethink his choice.

Sam sits in silence, leaving him to move things along at his own pace. It's no surprise that he wastes no time deciding which disc to watch first. He simply pulls the first one out of the box, strides determinedly to the DVD player, and pops the disc in the machine.

The only sounds in the apartment are their measured breaths, and the gentle whir of the disc spinning up.

Jack reclaims his seat on the couch but in the middle this time rather than in the corner opposite Sam. Years ago, when they'd still been a couple, a seat in the middle of the squishy couch was an invitation to cuddle. Neither one of them has claimed the middle spot much since they broke up, and she's unsure of his intentions. Or at least, she is until he pats the cushion beside him, carefully averting his eyes.

She's under no illusions. He's avoiding her on purpose. If she rebuffs him, he can pretend she simply hadn't noticed the invitation.

Even though she's not sure it's the best idea when they're about to watch memories leading up to the single biggest regret of his life, Sam obliges. She slides across the couch and curls into his side. She's not surprised to find she still fits perfectly against him.

They really are made for each other, just not in the way they'd once thought.

Jack's arm curls around her shoulders, feigning a level of relaxation he doesn't feel. Snuggled against him as she is, Sam can feel the tension strung taught through his every muscle. She reaches up, catches his fingers with hers and squeezes reassuringly.

"Breathe," she says quietly.

He does. Her head rises and falls with his chest.

She's so wrapped up in his distress that it takes her by surprise when the movie starts and the bright laughter of a young child fills the silent apartment.

Jack's heart beats hard against his ribs as he sucks in a ragged breath. Sam can only imagine how hard it must be for him, hearing his son's voice for the first time in almost 18 years.

On the screen, a brown haired, brown eyed toddler is splashing happily in a bubble-filled bathtub. His hair is sculpted into a Mohawk. Foam clings to his hair in patches, slowly dissolving as the camera rolls. The little boy is grinning widely, displaying the same dimples that too rarely grace his father's face.

"He looks just like you," Sam murmurs. It's a thought she's had many times over the years, but this is the first time she's felt comfortable voicing it.

"Not his smile. That was all Sarah."

Sam squeezes his fingers again, but her attention remains fixed on the TV. She's fascinated by the little boy who played such an integral role in molding the man beside her.

"He loved bath time," Jack says quietly. "We used to have to wrestle him out of the tub."

On screen, a much younger version of Jack moves into the frame. His shirt is soaked, suggesting that the little boy in the tub has been very busy splashing up a storm.

Sam watches as father and son goof around, giving one another bubble beards and enacting an impressive naval battle with brightly coloured plastic boats. The pair keep their one-woman camera crew in stitches. The image shakes in time with the lilting laugh coming from off-camera.

Bath time lasts a few minutes longer before a curtain of static washes over the screen. When the picture clears, Charlie and Jack are tearing across a lush green field on a bright summer's day. Charlie is running circles around his father, tiny sneakers moving this way and that as he tries to steal the soccer ball from his dad's superiorly coordinated feet.

Jack's hand moves in a slow circle on her upper arm. "He loved soccer. He was good at it too. I had to practice every night after he went to bed for three weeks just to get good enough to keep the ball away from him."

"Really?"

Jack shrugs, jostling her head slightly. "Soccer wasn't big in Minnesota when I was a kid. I didn't have a whole lot of practice."

Charlie manages to steal the ball away, and immediately takes off in the opposite direction, racing away from the camera. His giggles fade as he moves away from his parents, but they're still there in the background.

"_Anytime you want to step in, feel free," Jack says._

"_No way. I spend _plenty_ of time chasing around after him when you're gone," Sarah replies teasingly._

"_Daddy, come get me!" Charlie shouts from across the field._

_Jack shrugs and says, "Duty calls." Then he looks over his shoulder and hollers back, "On my way, buddy!"_

"He kept you pretty busy, huh?" Sam asks. It's not that she feels the need to fill the silences. Rather she's trying to keep Jack grounded in the present. Too often he's allowed himself to get lost in the hurt and sadness of his past. He's learning how to remember the good without getting caught up in the bad, but sometimes he still needs a little help.

"Yeah."

More static. This time when the picture clears, a pyjama-clad Charlie is racing for a gigantic Christmas tree. He skids to a stop in his sock feet and only his mother's quick reflexes keep him from winding up _in_ the tree.

"_Hold on, bud. We've got to see what Santa left in your stocking first," Jack reminds._

"_But Daddy…"_

"You know the rules, Charlie," Sarah says sternly.

The picture bounces around unsteadily for a few moments. When it settles, Jack appears in the frame. He sits on the floor and pulls the eager boy into his lap. Strong arms wrap around the squirming little body, gently pinning him place until his mom can deliver a brightly coloured stocking overflowing with treats.

With Charlie sufficiently distracted, Sarah plops herself down beside Jack. The Sarah of twenty-odd years ago is curled against him the exact same way present day Sam is.

Sam has always been aware that she and Sarah bear a passing resemblance to one another. That one time they'd met face-to-face, they'd even had the same hairstyle. But it's not until this moment that Sam appreciates just how alike she and Jack's ex-wife are.

If they were still a couple, the realization would bother her, raising doubts that perhaps she's just a convenient substitute for his ex-wife. But there are no doubts tonight. She knows Jack loves her for who she is. It's not the kind of love she'd once hoped for, but that doesn't make it any less real.

Sam is snapped out of her musings by the sudden silence that fills the room. Jack has a white-knuckle grip on the remote, thumb jammed tightly on the pause button. He lets out a ragged breath, visibly struggling for control.

Twisting around to get a better look at him, Sam places a hand on his chest and moves her thumb in a slow circle. She gives him the length of a few deep breaths to pull himself together.

"Tell me what you're thinking," she urges quietly.

Jack ignores her and continues to breathe.

"Talk to me, Jack."

"I didn't have to lose them," he says roughly, voice uneven. "If I'd been more careful…"

"What happened to Charlie wasn't your fault, Jack. You know that," she says. Because even though he _does_ know it, sometimes he still needs to hear it. Jack will never absolve himself completely, but every time someone else offers him absolution, he comes a little closer to granting himself some small measure of forgiveness.

He doesn't reply, but he also doesn't deny it. It's not much but it's progress.

"I can't watch anymore right now," Jack says gruffly. He moves to climb out from under her, but Sam leans more of her weight on him, pinning him in place. "Sam…" he says warningly.

She doesn't answer, just shifts so she's facing him, balanced carefully on the edge of the couch. She gets to her knees and wraps her arms around him, hugging him tight. He's tensed, as if ready to spring into action. His arm falls from around her shoulders and he makes no move to replace it.

"Don't shut me out," she says softly.

Jack sucks in another ragged breath, and then another. She doesn't say anything more, doesn't try to push him. All she can do now is wait him out.

Eventually Jack shifts ever so slightly and his arms come around her. Then he's holding on tight, clinging to her with the same ferocious strength usually devoted to maintaining his self-control.

"You can watch the rest when you're ready," Sam murmurs. "If you want me to watch them with you, I will. If not, that's okay, too." She turns her head into his neck. "They're good memories, Jack. You deserve to have them."

"Can we just… Not talk for a while?" he asks unsteadily.

"Sure." She moves to break off the hug, but his arms remain locked around her.

"Can we also just stay like this for a while?"

Sam runs her fingers through his hair in the way that had always soothed him back when they'd still been together. She hugs him again in answer.

Jack buries his face in her shoulder. His voice is muffled, but his quiet "Thanks," is still crystal clear.

Sam squeezes him, good and hard. "Always."


	11. February 2014

**February 2014**

Sam slips in quietly and eases the door shut behind her. Her heels come off immediately, allowing her to pad across the apartment's hardwood floor in silence. The low murmur of the TV is the only sound in the apartment, but she knows better than to take that as a sign that Jack's awake.

His bad habit of falling asleep in front of the TV has gotten worse since the surgery. The painkillers aren't doing much, barely even taking the edge off the discomfort that he actually admitted ranked as a nine on the O'Neill Pain Scale. It's hard for him to sleep. Lately he's taken to dropping off when exhaustion forces it, and more often than not, that happens in front of the TV.

Sam's learned to assume he's asleep, lest she disturb what little rest he's able to grab here and there.

As quietly as she can, Sam sets down her briefcase and shrugs off her jacket. After a long day of meetings, the last thing she wants to do is wear her dress uniform for even one more minute. The comfiest pair of beat up old sweats she owns are calling her name, but first things first. Sam creeps down the hall, careful to avoid the creaky floorboard between her room and Jack's. She pokes her head through the door, hoping she'll find him asleep.

Instead, dull brown eyes meet hers. He looks absolutely awful, pale face lined with pain and dark circles ringing his eyes. Sam's heart goes out to him. She hates that there's nothing she can do to make this better for him. The surgery will alleviate a lot of his knee pain in the long run, but the price is a whole lot of intense pain in his immediate future.

"Hey," she greets. She keeps her voice soft and gentle, a tone she's always used when visiting her teammates in the infirmary. "How are you feeling?"

Jack grunts, non-committal, and averts his eyes, returning his attention to the TV.

Sam knows better than to accept his behaviour as a dismissal. This is O'Neill Avoidance Tactics 101 and she'd aced the course a long, long time ago. Crossing the room, she perches on the edge of his bed. A hand on his forehead confirms that he's not running a fever. He's definitely feeling lousy, but it's normal post-surgery lousy; no signs of infection so far.

"Did you manage to get any sleep today?"

Jack shifts uncomfortably, trying and failing to bite back a hiss of pain when the movement jostles his heavily bandaged knee. "A bit," he hisses out through gritted teeth.

"That's good." Sam rakes her fingers through his hair, nails lightly grazing his scalp. "Did you eat?"

A head shake this time. "Not hungry."

"I can order Mexican from that place that makes guacamole to order."

Another head shake.

"When are you due for your next dose of painkillers?"

Jack's eyes slide over to the clock on his nightstand. "Three more hours."

Sam winces in sympathy and works her hand through his hair again. "Maybe I should give Doctor Waters a call. There might be something stronger he can prescribe..."

"There's not," Jack grunts. His lips quirk in imitation of a smirk. "I called this afternoon."

"I'm sorry," Sam says, and she is. It takes a lot to keep Jack down like this. She knows how crummy he's got to be feeling to stay in bed for four days running.

"Not your fault."

Strictly speaking, that's true. But Sam knows for a fact that one of the many knee injuries that made the surgery necessary was sustained covering her retreat through the gate on a mission gone south. It's enough to make her feel at least a little responsible.

"Do you want anything?"

"Company?" Jack asks hopefully.

"Sure," Sam agrees easily. After all, it's the least she can do. "Let me change first?"

"Yeah."

Sam runs her fingers through his hair one last time before leaving. She changes quickly, uncharacteristically leaving her discarded clothes lying on the floor. A quick swing through the kitchen to pick up a fresh ice pack and two tall glasses of juice, and then she's back.

The glasses take up residence on the nightstand, amongst a number of empty water bottles Jack's drained throughout the day. She hands over the ice pack, leaving it up to him to position the little blue and white bag where it will do the most good.

"Can you slide down a little?"

Jack nods and, with a grunt and a pained grimace, slips a few inches farther down the bed. Sam plucks the pillow from beneath his head and stuffs it up against the headboard. Before Jack can protest, she gets into position, pillowing his head on her thigh.

"Is this okay?"

He squirms a little, making himself comfortable. "Yeah."

Her fingers find their way back into his hair. Sam lets her attention wander to the TV, where the Simpson family is up to their usual antics. Nails tracing absentminded patterns across his scalp slowly help Jack relax. As time ticks by, Sam can feel the tension leaving his body and slowly but surely, he melts into her.

When his breathing evens out, she snags the remote from his limp fingers and turns off the TV. She'll be stiff and sore tomorrow, but it will be worth the minor discomfort to see Jack get a good night's sleep. She'll stay, acting as his human pillow all night, if need be.

It's the least she can do.


	12. May 2014

**May 2014**

After knowing her for more than 15 years, Jack would feel quite comfortable betting his entire pension on his ability to go 10 for 10 on a quiz about Samantha Carter's facial expressions. That being said, his surprise when the look of complete and utter dread freezes her features is completely understandable.

He's seen her more enthusiastic about the possibility of being implanted with a Goa'uld than she is about the set of slightly battered stars the president is displaying proudly.

Wide, horror filled blue eyes dart from the offending box to Jack and back again. Sam doesn't say anything, but she doesn't have to. Jack knows that look. It's the one she wears on the rare occasions when running away is a more appealing option than sticking around and toughing out an unpleasant situation – usually related somehow to touchy feely stuff.

There isn't much Jack can do to investigate her unexpected reaction when they're standing in the Oval Office, surrounded by the president, the secretary of defense, the Joint Chiefs and a gaggle of IOA representatives. He has to settle for resolving to ask about it later.

In the meantime, he tries to contain his dopily enormous grin of pride and concentrate on the words the president is saying. He more or less succeeds, up until the moment their commander in chief offers him one of the shiny stars destined for the shoulders of a newly minted blonde haired, blue eyed United States Air Force general.

He's never been more proud of her than he is in this moment, and considering all they've been through together, that's really saying something.

Sam is clearly operating on autopilot as she stands at attention and allows a single star to be pinned on each shoulder. She stays on autopilot while she salutes the president, and when the other man steps back, allowing Jack the honour of administering the oath that goes along with her generalship.

Technically speaking, it's a violation of protocol. But it was the president's idea in the first place, and if he's okay with it, then Jack is more than happy to step up.

The look of dread remains fixed on Sam's face throughout a long round of applause and countless enthusiastic handshakes. The others hover around the newest general in the USAF, offering their congratulations and praise as the group is ushered out of the Oval Office, escorted through the White House and slowly but surely, thinned out by the dutiful drivers upon which the entire upper echelons of the Washington bureaucracy depend.

It's not until Jack's driver closes the door, ensconcing the pair of them in the back of his car, that he has the chance to pick her brain about her unusual reaction to the promotion she's so well and truly earned.

"You okay?"

Sam nods mutely, but her teeth are worrying her lower lip, contradicting the gesture.

"Really?" Jack pushes gently. "Because I've watched you face down a battalion of pissed off Jaffa without looking half as freaked out as you do right now."

"They're putting me in command of the SGC, aren't they?" Her voice is a quiet monotone, lacking any enthusiasm at all.

"Hank's raring for retirement," Jack reminds. The current commander of the SGC has made a lot of progress reconciling with his no longer ex-wife and he's eager to make up for lost time.

"So I get transferred back to Colorado? Just like that?"

Jack rests a hand on the back of her neck and squeezes, gently kneading the taught muscles. "You're going to have to help me out here, _General Carter_. I thought you'd be thrilled…"

"With the promotion? Yeah. With the transfer? Not so much," she says darkly.

"Talk to me, Sam."

She shakes her head firmly, clearly intending to dismiss him. Jack refuses to let her. He ducks his head and catches her eye. "Sam."

She takes a deep, bracing breath before straightening up and meeting his gaze. "They're sending me back to Colorado and you're staying here."

"Ah." That's one detail Jack has been determinedly ignoring.

He doesn't want her to move halfway across the country again. He's gotten used to having her around, when she's on Earth, anyway. With her there, the apartment feels like a home and, though he'll deny it on pain of death, he loves the intimacy their shared living space grants them. There's a closeness between them now that neither of them ever had with Daniel or Teal'c. It's like making up for all that lost time, when fear of rules and rumours imposed an artificial distance between them.

But as much as hates the idea of letting her go, Jack knows it's the right thing to do. She deserves a shoulder full of stars so much more than he does and the only way she can ascend to the rank she's more than earned is by filling the void that will be created by Hank's departure. Jack won't hold her back out of his own selfish desire to avoid being alone.

"Was this your idea?" she asks, her voice thick with hurt.

"Was what my idea?"

"Giving me command of the SGC."

"It's been a long time coming, Sam. I think you've earned it, but it wasn't my idea."

"If you wanted me gone, you could have just said so."

"Hey!" Jack says, slightly more sharply than he intended. He catches her chin with a finger and forces her head around to look at him. "If I wanted you gone, I _would_ have said so. If I had my way, we'd install an Asgard transporter on either end and keep a ship in orbit so you could just commute back and forth from Washington to Colorado Springs every day."

In spite of herself, she smiles. "But?"

"But I can't have my way and you deserve better than to be held back by your roommate."

"You're more than that."

"Will it be enough?"

Sam stares at him blankly for a few long moments while her usually super smart brain tries to figure out what he's getting at. When she does, the last traces of her smile leave her eyes. "Enough to stay as close as we are now, you mean?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know," she admits quietly. Then, "I hope so."

"Me too."

She musters a watery smile and leans into the arms that are always open to her.


	13. August 2014

**August 2014**

Jack can hear his private line ringing from down the hall, but he refuses to pick up the pace. Maybe, just maybe, if he takes long enough to reach his office, the caller will have already hung up. He prefers to let his calls go to voicemail. That way he can procrastinate returning the call unless it's from one of those rare people he actually _wants_ to be able to reach him on his private line. It's funny how nothing private in Washington _stays _private for long.

His admin assistant gives him a disapproving frown as he saunters past her desk. After two and a half years assigned to his office, she's well acquainted with his tactics. If she weren't already on the phone, likely dealing with another bigwig he's been blowing off lately, she'd scold him about the fact that every time _he _dodges a call, _she_ has to deal with the repercussions.

She may be just a kid who doesn't look old enough for the lieutenant's bars that sit atop her shoulders, but she isn't afraid to stand up to her boss. Jack likes that about her. She reminds him of a young Sam Carter.

He offers her his most over the top 'what can you do?' shrug. Then the phone stops ringing and he adds a victorious fist pump to the mix. There's a reason he runs his office the way he does: because it works.

Cavanaugh rolls her eyes and shifts the receiver to nestle between her ear and her shoulder. She hands him a stack of messages and levels a look that makes it clear she expects him to return each and every call.

Jack shuffles through the stack and continues on to his office. He's two steps through the door before the phone starts ringing again. He throws himself into his chair and glances at the caller ID, wondering which hoity toity has decided to bypass Cavanaugh and call on his direct line _this _time.

The number registers right away. It should – it used to be his. He snatches up the receiver on the second ring.

"Hey," he greets warmly.

"We lost SG-7."

Jack takes a deep breath. He remembers the horrible, sick feeling of losing his first team. Hammond had no words to offer him then, and he has none to offer Sam now. There's nothing he can say to make this easier for her. She'll have to learn to live with the guilt, just like he did.

"I'm sorry." It's inadequate, but it's all he has.

"They were on a geological mission to '637 when they were captured by the locals," Sam's tight, carefully controlled voice explains over the line. "They missed two check-ins before I decided to send SG-2 after them. By the time they found SG-7, the natives had executed the whole team."

Jack runs a hand over his eyes and sucks in another deep breath. What happened to SG-7 is every commander's nightmare – one he'd unrealistically hoped Sam would never have to confront.

"It's my fault. I should have sent someone after them sooner."

"You followed procedure," he says firmly.

"Something about it didn't feel right. If I'd followed my gut, maybe they'd still be alive."

"And maybe the other team would be dead now too. You can't play 'what if' and you can't blame yourself."

"They are... _were_ my responsibility. Who should I blame?" she snaps.

Cavanaugh appears in the doorway, pointedly aiming a finger at her watch. Jack waves dismissively, but she stands her ground, so he grabs the nearest pen, scribbles a terse explanation on his legal pad, and tosses it to her.

He's supposed to be on his way to a budget meeting with the Area 51 brain trust, but the eggheads can wait.

Cavanaugh reads his note. Her lips thin to a hard line and she nods once, indicating that she'll take care of his schedule.

This is why she's lasted in his office for so long: she gets Jack's priorities. When the SGC needs him, Cavanaugh will move heaven and earth to make him available. When one of his former teammates needs him, all bets are off.

"Sam, listen to me," Jack says patiently. "I understand how you're feeling right now. I've been there, done that. I'm not going to tell you it gets easier – it never does. The day you lose someone and you _don't _feel the way you do right now, it's time to walk away."

A few thousands miles away, she draws a shaky breath.

"Are you alone in your office?"

"Yes."

"Are the blinds closed?"

"Yes."

"Then let it out."

He never did this when he was in command of the SGC. Tears aren't his style. They're not usually hers either, but these are special circumstances.

Jack knows she's had trouble adjusting to command. It's hard for her to send teams out into the galaxy and not lead the charge when a rescue is required. The inaction goes against her instincts and every command lesson he's ever ingrained in her. It's even harder for her to let the science department alone with the technology that comes through the gate. The SGC's labs have always been her sanctuary. Now when she drops by, she's confronted with the fact that they're not her place anymore.

Command was easier for her on Atlantis and onboard the _Hammond_. Both were unfamiliar territory without any established habits. The SGC is both home and not to her now that she's the one calling the shots.

Jack gets that too.

It doesn't help that her long-time support system isn't around much. Daniel, Teal'c, Cam and Vala are off doing their own things more often than they're at the SGC anymore. In that respect, Jack knows she's got it harder than he ever did. Sure, he was called upon to send his closest friends into danger, but at least they were there when he needed their support or an audience to vent to.

"I'm fine, I just wish…"

"I know," Jack says gently. "But you can't. And you'll drive yourself crazy if you keep thinking about all the things you could, should or would have done if you'd known the team was in trouble."

He waits a beat, then shifts gears from friend to mentor. "You need to let yourself have these few minutes now, because when you open that door and step out of your office, that's it. Every single person on that base is hurting, and they're going to be looking to you for…"

"I know." Her voice is thick and he knows she's following his advice and letting the tears fall. "I need to keep it together and…"

"I know you know," Jack interrupts tactfully. He takes another deep breath. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to patronize you."

"No matter what happened, you always found a way to rally everyone around you." Sam sniffs and swallows hard. She's already pulling herself together again. "I knew it wasn't easy for you, but now I understand just how hard it must have been to be a rock for all of us."

"You _are_ that rock, Sam. You're the only one at the SGC who can't see it."

Jack just knows she's shrugging half-heartedly, dismissing the compliment. She's never been able to see herself the way other people do. At times, that's been the hardest part of his job as her mentor: making her understand her strengths.

"Is there any chance you can make it out for the memorial?"

"Of course." Jack doesn't need to look at his calendar. Whatever date Carter sets for the memorial will be clear. Cavanaugh will see to that.

"And maybe stay for a while after?" she asks hesitantly.

It'll be harder for Cavanaugh to clear a few days, but she'll find a way if Jack asks. "Yeah."

"If you're busy…"

"I'll be there, Sam."

"Thanks."

They're silent for a few moments, just listening to one another breathe over the line. There are other things both of them ought to be doing now, and if he were to hint that he needed to get off the call, she'd hang up in a heartbeat. But he needs this just as much as she does. He's missed her since she moved back to Colorado, and he hates knowing that if trouble strikes at the SGC, there's nothing he can do to help her. If it meant hanging on to this connection, Jack would gladly stay on the line for the rest of the day just listening to her breathe.

Cavanaugh reappears beside his desk then. She doesn't say a word, just drops a thin stack of stapled papers on his desk and slips half a dozen file folders into his briefcase. Jack glances at what turns out to be his travel itinerary and a revised version of his schedule for the next week. With the exception of a handful of conference calls he can't miss, she's cleared every day.

Jack mouths a "thank you." He owes her a month's worth of really good coffee from the shop down the street that's just barely in the budget at his pay grade. She offers him a tight smile and taps a pointed finger beside his scheduled departure time.

"Look, Sam, I've got to get off the phone if I'm going to make my flight."

In spite of everything, Sam manages a chuckle. "She's good."

"Don't tell him I said so, but I think she may be even better than Walter."

"Nobody's better than Walter." She waits a beat, then asks, "When do you land?"

* * *

Jack wakes up alone save for the two perky brunettes trying to talk him into buying a contraption that looks suspiciously like a Goa'uld torture device. Sam's side of the couch is still warm though, so he knows he hasn't been alone for long.

He rises and stretches, working out the kinks that come from a late night curled up on a new piece of furniture that hasn't been properly broken in yet. The air is chilly despite the fact that there are still technically a few weeks left of summer. In Washington, the air is still heavy with heat and humidity. He'll take the fresh mountain air any day.

Going with his gut, he turns off the TV and picks his way across the unfamiliar house. It's no surprise to reach the sliding door and find his query leaning on the back patio railing, head tilted back to take in the night sky. Like him, Sam has always sought solace from the stars.

Jack slides the door open, wincing at the grating of metal on metal in the otherwise silent night.

"I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't. Jet lag," he lies. The time difference between Washington and Colorado Springs is negligible, especially when you consider what he used to do for a living. Crossing a few time zones is nothing compared to trading atmospheres a couple of times a week. It's the only edge he has when it comes time for the quarterly IOA meetings that crisscross the globe.

"I'm glad you're here," she says quietly. "I know I've lost people before, but this…"

"This is different."

He's been in her shoes. The SGC, more than any other command he's ever had the privilege of serving with, is a family. Once people are assigned to the base, very few ever move on to other commands. Sure, they may ship off to Atlantis or Area 51, or even transfer to a position with Earth's flee, but when all is said and done, those are all just _de facto _branches of Stargate Command.

They're an insular group and everyone can't help but know everyone else's business. Just like any other workplace, there are personalities that don't gel, but even the two most distant members of the SGC would willingly lay down their lives for one another because that's the culture George Hammond worked so hard to build. Jack did his damnedest to maintain that, as did Hank Landry. There's no question that legacy is safe with Sam.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks gently. She hadn't wanted to talk when she'd gotten home, but that was hours ago. After a long hot shower, a steak dinner, a bottle of red wine split two ways and a few hours of mindless TV movies, there's a fifty-fifty chance she's unwound enough to talk things through now.

She shrugs, the up and down of her shoulders barely perceptible beneath the thick jacket she'd slipped on to ward off the chill. "I'm just really glad you're here."

"Me too." Being at the SGC for the next few days isn't going to be fun, but it's where he'll be able to do the most good. "How's everybody holding up?"

Sam shrugs again. "About as well as you'd expect. Lascelle is taking it pretty hard."

Jack winces in sympathy. Eric Lascelle has been at the SGC for six and a half years. He'd served on SG-7 with Colonel Franklin up until two months ago, when all of Franklin's mentoring had finally paid off and Lascelle had been given command of his own unit. Jack had signed the paperwork himself.

"And how are you holding up?"

"Better now." Sam shifts her weight, bringing her close enough to lean her head on his shoulder. "Thanks for coming."

He slides an arm around her shoulders, anchoring her in place. "Thanks for letting me stay here."

He hadn't wanted to assume anything but when he'd stepped off the plane and found an airman and a key to Sam's place waiting for him, the last of his travel plans had sorted themselves out. Jack had spent the afternoon making himself at home, setting up the guest room and getting in the groceries Sam never seemed to bother buying for herself. He'd been impatient for her to get home but had understood why she was needed at the base.

"You'd probably have slept better in a hotel."

Actually, he'd probably have tossed and turned all night, worrying about how she was coping.

"I'm good," Jack assures her. His hand rubs up and down her arm, smoothing soothingly over the worn fabric of her jacket. "I think you could probably use some sleep though."

The dark smudges under her eyes had taken him by surprise. He's seen her work herself into the ground before. He's even gotten good enough to tell when she's doing it from a few time zones away. Nothing in their semi-regular phone conversations had tipped him off this time though. He hadn't been expecting her to look as wrung out as she does.

"I can't sleep."

"Can't sleep or won't sleep?"

"Can't." She sighs and snuggles further into his hold. "It's not that I haven't been trying; I just can't shut my brain off."

"That's never stopped you before."

"I've never been responsible for a few hundred lives before."

She's been responsible for billions of lives before and they both know it, but it's close enough to the truth for the purpose of this conversation.

"You're ready for this, Sam. You know how I operate – I wouldn't have recommended you for Hank's old job if I didn't believe you could handle it."

"I know _you_ think I'm ready. The thing is, most of the time _I _don't think I'm ready." She sighs and Jack watches her breath cloud in the crisp night air. "I feel completely out of my depth most of the time, and I haven't even had to deal with a real crisis yet. When something _does _go wrong, do you know what my first reaction is?"

He doesn't bother guessing.

"I turn around and look for General Hammond coming down the stairs to the control room."

"I used to do the same thing," Jack confesses. Shifting his hold, he slips behind her so he can wrap both arms around her waist and hold her to his chest.

She doesn't say anything for a while, just locks her fingers with his and hangs on. Jack drops his chin to her shoulder, content to let her find what comfort she can.

"Sometimes I think this promotion was a mistake," Sam finally murmurs. "None of the things I'm good at – none of the things that I excelled at to _earn _this promotion – are a part of my job anymore. I just push paper and send good people out into dangerous situations day after day. I don't explore, I hardly strategize, and I can't even remember the last time I was in a lab to do more than just track down a late report."

Jack flexes his fingers, squeezing supportively. "I know the feeling. They really ought to stamp a warning on the stars they hand out to new generals."

"I thought I wanted this. I spent my whole career working my way to the top, and now…" Sam lets the sentence trail off, not sure how she means to finish it.

"Now that you're here, you're not sure why you ever wanted it." Jack's never aspired to the constellations on his shoulders, but he understands where she's coming from.

He hates how he spends his days. Whenever he thinks about throwing in the towel, he reminds himself that although he may not like the work, there are people who would love to have his job for all the wrong reasons. He, on the other hand, hates it for all the right ones. It's a small consolation but it gets him through the day.

"Way back when, when the founding fathers were going at it over who would get to be president, do you know how they settled on George Washington?"

Sam blinks up at him in confusion, and with good reason. This is more of a Daniel tangent he's throwing at her. "Seriously?"

"Seriously." Jack rests his forehead against her temple. "They chose Washington because he didn't want it. They figured that anyone who desired that kind of power wasn't suited to it."

A few beats of silence pass between them.

"And you think I'm the best person to run the SGC because I don't want the responsibility?"

"I think you're the best person to run the SGC because you don't want power for power's sake. And even though I hate politics and the Pentagon and Washington, I think I'm the best person to run Homeworld Security because I refuse to play power games when lives are at stake."

"And you're grooming me for your job."

Jack doesn't bother answering. They both know she's the perfect choice – even if she wishes she weren't.

Sam's lips quirk in a wry smile. "Don't expect me to thank you."

"Believe me, I don't."

"I hate losing people, Jack." For the first time in all the years he's known her, Sam sounds her age.

"And _that's _why I want you in my job one day." Jack tightens his hold, hugging her for all he's worth. He's asking her to take on a terrible burden, but he truly believes she's the best person for the job. He'd never ask this of her otherwise.

"I think I'm going to call it a night, try to get some sleep."

"Good."

Sam slips her hands out of his and turns to face him, staying in the circle of his arms. "Will you sleep with me tonight?"

The request takes Jack by surprise, but he keeps his reaction in check. She wouldn't ask if she didn't need to keep him close. "On one condition."

"Not on the couch?"

"Not on the couch."

Sam flashes him a tired smile, then slips out of his arms and sidesteps around him. In no time at all, they're curled up together in bed, snuggling under her well worn quilt. It's been 15 years since the first time he was this close to her and Jack can't help but marvel that after all this time, they still fit one another perfectly.

Mind you, he'll take a queen sized mattress over ice and snow in an Antarctic crevasse any day.

Jack's just starting to drift off when Sam's quiet voice breaks the late night stillness.

"Thank you."

He drops a kiss to the soft cotton tee covering her shoulder. "Always."


	14. June 2015

**June 2015**

It's a good day – something she hasn't had nearly enough of since stepping into Hank Landry's shoes. So far all of her teams have checked in on time and reported that things are a-ok. She's had three debriefings, two of which were with science teams who actually needed her expertise. Her inbox is under control and based on the way the rest of her week looks, it might just stay that way. For the first time, Sam's starting to feel like maybe she might be able to run this place after all.

Much to Walter's chagrin, she's making her way back from the commissary with a fresh mug of coffee in hand. He thinks its unseemly for a general to have to wander the halls in search of her own caffeine supply. She thinks it's nice to get out of her office every once in a while. So far she's winning the ongoing debate, but she's under no illusions. It's the stars on her shoulders he's deferring to; it's got nothing to do with _her_.

Acknowledging each person she passes with a nod and smile, Sam slowly makes her way back to her office. There are so many fresh young faces in the halls these days. They make her feel old – she can't remember ever being their age.

"General Carter to the control room," Walter's voice pages over the P.A. system.

Sam makes a conscious effort to keep the sudden burst of anxiety under wraps and picks up her pace. Once upon a time, a page to the control room would have sent her running. These days, the sight of her running through the halls would probably spark a base-wide panic and raise the DEFCON level a notch or two.

She reaches the stairs to the control room and jogs up two steps at a time. It's the one concession General Carter allows to the wide-eyed captain she used to be.

"What have we got?" She's mastered the command voice. Her words toe that fine line between a demanding bark and self-assured confidence.

"Ma'am, there's a call for you in your office." Walter's face is lined with tension and his voice is tight with worry. Neither is ever a good sign. Together, they're usually indicative of a looming apocalypse.

Anxiety claws at her stomach. "Who is it?"

"Lieutenant Cavanaugh, ma'am."

The breath catches in her chest even as her rational self insists she's panicking over nothing. There's no denying that Walter's worried though. Given how much it takes to rattle him, her rational self is fighting a losing battle.

"What does she want?"

"I think you'd better talk to her yourself, ma'am."

Sam turns on her heel and resumes her two-steps-at-a-time jog up to her office. The door slams shut behind her but the noise of it barely registers. All of her focus is on the voice coming through the receiver pressed to her ear.

"What's going on?" she demands. Under these nerve-wracking circumstances, Cavanaugh will forgive her lack of manners. The younger woman's capacity to let little things like that slide are a major factor in her continued presence on Jack's staff.

The young woman on the other end sucks in a deep breath. "Ma'am, you need to come home right away."

The statement doesn't confuse Sam the way it should, considering she's been back in Colorado Springs for going on a year now.

"What happened, Alice?"

"General O'Neill was coming back from a briefing with the IOA when he collapsed. He was taken away in an ambulance."

"Where?"

Sam is already stuffing her laptop and a stack of files into her briefcase. She technically doesn't have the authority to grant herself emergency leave, but one of the perks of being the boss is that she outranks anyone who might try to point that inconvenient fact out to her.

"George Washington." Cavanaugh takes another shaky breath. "Ma'am, is there anyone else I should call?"

That's a good question. Cassandra will have to be brought into the loop at some point. So will Daniel and Teal'c, who are off-world with Bra'tac right now. Over the last few years, Cam and Vala, who are currently tagging along while SG-14 makes nice with the Nox, have become family too. It's not a matter of who else needs to be told, but rather when the time is right to tell them.

"Not right now." They don't know anything yet, so there's no point in getting everyone all worked up over something that might turn out to be nothing at all. That's what she tries to tell herself anyway. "I'm going to catch the next flight out that way. Call me if you hear anything – my cell will be on the whole time."

Sam slams the handset back into the cradle and scans her desk. There's nothing else of vital importance at the moment and if push comes to shove, Walter can always e-mail her any must-read documents.

Slinging her bulging briefcase over one shoulder, Sam hustles out of her office. She pounds down the stairs to the control room where a very worried Walter Harriman is waiting for her.

"Ma'am?"

"I'm going to Washington."

* * *

Even without doing the math on it, Sam can conclusively say she's spent entirely too much time sitting at the bedsides of people she cares about. It's never fun, but this time is even worse than usual. This time she's stuck waiting in a public hospital where she doesn't know any of the staff, and strange medical personnel flit in and out of the room at random.

She misses the familiar faces of the SGC infirmary staff and the comfortingly rigid schedules they abide by.

It's been a long two days and there's been no shortage of people offering to spell her for a while, but Sam is determined to maintain her vigil until Jack wakes up.

The last 48 hours have been a blur of specialists, medical jargon and statistics that she's pretty sure were meant to be reassuring. She'd arrived at the hospital and immediately been confronted with the news that Jack had suffered a heart attack. Not a severe one, according to his brand spanking new cardiologist, but a heart attack nonetheless. Sam was too overwhelmed by the news to ask how a heart attack could be anything but severe.

There have been several discussions about Jack's diet and exercise regime. The doctors have waxed rhapsodic about his cholesterol levels and sodium intake, lecturing her about all the lifestyle changes he's going to have to make going forward. It became obvious pretty early on that they assumed Sam was his girlfriend and had some influence in these matters. She still hasn't bothered to correct them.

Her phone jitters across the hospital bed, snapping Sam out of her thoughts. She snatches it up to find another text from Cassandra. She's been checking in every hour or so since yesterday, when Sam had called to break the news to her. Cassie had wanted to drop everything and hop on the next flight. Sam had nixed that idea. There was nothing she could do at the hospital that Sam herself wasn't already doing, and she had an important meeting with her thesis advisor this afternoon.

They'd gone back and forth before eventually reaching a compromise: Cassie would make the meeting with her advisor and Sam would pay for her ticket on the next flight out. Sam has already resigned herself to the fact that once Cass finishes her PhD and starts earning a real pay cheque, she'll never win another argument. Until that day comes, Sam's not above resorting to bribery.

Fingers flying across the keypad, she taps out a reply, reassuring Cassandra that there's been no change in Jack's condition. They'd put him under anesthesia for an angioplasty in the wee hours of the morning and he's yet to wake up.

Sam tosses her phone back onto the bed and scrubs a hand across her face. She knows she should probably accept the next offer of a break so she can get some sleep and a shower, but she hasn't been able to talk to Jack yet. Until she does, she knows she won't be able to sleep, no matter how reassuring the doctors try to be.

Giving in to the exhaustion dragging at her, she folds her arms on the edge of the bed and rests her head on top of them. She closes her eyes and just breathes. The rhythmic beeping of Jack's heart monitor is soothing, but she knows she won't fall asleep.

Long minutes later, footfalls approach – a counterpoint to the chirps of the monitor. She doesn't bother straightening up. The hospital staff have made it clear that she's not in the way and she's too tired to move unless it's absolutely necessary.

A warm hand on her shoulder makes her shoot upright and twist around in her chair. Then she's on her feet and being wrapped in a bear hug.

"What are you doing here?"

"You probably haven't slept in two days, so we're all going to pretend that isn't a really dumb question." Cam's loose drawl suggests this is a very magnanimous act on his part.

"We got back a few hours ago and Walter told us what happened." Vala is already flitting around Sam's makeshift camp, clearing the empty coffee cups away to make room for a tray full of steaming ones. "Cameron stepped in and took charge long enough to recall Daniel and Muscles, then handed things over to Colonel Tremblay and here we are."

"How is he?" Daniel asks, worried.

"No change." She squeezes him once, good and hard, then steps out of his arms and into Vala's. "I'm glad you guys are here."

"As are we."

While the others sort themselves out, Sam makes the rounds, hugging each of them in turn. She and Cam are going to have to have a chat about _how_ they got to be here, of course, if only so that the paperwork can reflect that there was a conversation, but that's an issue for another time. Right now, she's too busy being relieved that in situations like this, her closest friends have a habit of doing what they want and to hell with the consequences.

They talk in muted tones as Sam fills the others in on Jack's condition. She's gotten good at rattling off the diagnosis, treatment and prognosis like she really understands what she's saying. They listen and ask questions when they don't follow, and she does her best to clarify. It's not unlike countless conversations about wormhole physics and alien technology they've had over the years, except this time Sam's not certain about anything she's saying.

She has to give them all credit: they bite their tongues for a whole hour before Teal'c tactfully broaches the subject of leaving the hospital and getting a few hours of sleep. She resists at first, but then Daniel and Vala and Cam join in. Sam is stubborn but so are they and when they tag team her four-on-one, she doesn't stand a chance.

Sam lets Cam drive her to the apartment she used to share with Jack. He slaps together some sandwiches while she's in the shower and waits for her to emerge. When he gets impatient and finally knocks on the door to her former bedroom, she's crashed out face down on the bed.

* * *

When Sam arrives back at the hospital early in the evening, Teal'c is standing guard at the foot of Jack's bed. Three chairs line the bed facing toward the doorway, with Cassie and Vala occupying seats on either side of Daniel.

Cassandra is on her feet and across the room in a flash. Sam hugs her long and hard. She's so wrapped up in the reunion that it takes a while to register that the source of two days' worth of worry is watching.

Sam smiles at him over Cassandra's shoulder and offers a warm, "Hey."

"Hey, yourself."

His voice is rough and gravelly, but Sam doesn't mind. It's him and he's awake and it's all she's been wishing for over the last 48 hours.

"Let's go get coffee, Cass," Daniel says gently.

Sam flashes him a grateful smile. She needs these few moments alone with Jack to reassure herself that he really is going to be okay. She also needs a chance to scold him about the fact that a man pushing 60 really shouldn't be eating like a lazy college student. Before heading back here, she and Cam had picked through Jack's cupboards in search of anything they could pull together into some semblance of a meal. In the end, they'd given up and ordered Chinese instead.

Cass reluctantly lets the others usher her out into the hall. Once they're gone, Sam crosses the room and perches on the side of Jack's bed.

"You know, there are easier ways to get me to come to Washington."

"You look like hell."

"And you don't?" She slips her hand into his and tangles their fingers together. "You scared me."

"I'm going to be okay." He strokes his thumb across the back of her hand, rubbing small circles on her smooth skin. "I don't pretend to understand more than three-quarters of what the cardiologist said, but I did get that much."

"I thought…" Sam's voice catches on the tears that sneak up on her. She blinks hard and tries to keep them at bay.

"C'mere."

He gives her hand a gentle tug. Sam lets him ease her closer towards him and buries her face in his shoulder. She tries to keep her weight off him, but Jack's not having that. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and holds her to him.

Sam breathes deep, inhaling the faint traces of aftershave still detectable beneath the sharp antiseptic smell of the hospital. Warm fingers rub the same small patch of skin on her bicep, reassuring her that he's here and alive.

"I thought we were going to lose you," she murmurs.

"You didn't."

"This time."

"I talked to the cardiologist, Sam. I'm going to take her advice and start eating better and working out more regularly."

"You're damn right you are." She relishes his chuckle. "Did she talk to you about work?"

Jack is quiet for a few beats and tension crackles between them. "Do we have to talk about this now?"

"She said stress could…"

"My job is to determine the fate of the _planet_. How exactly am I supposed to reduce stress?" he snaps.

The frequency of bleeps issuing from the heart monitor increases alarmingly. Sam's own heart thuds against her ribs hard. She keeps her face pressed to his shoulder and tries to keep her voice neutral. "You're right. We can talk about it later," she acquiesces.

"Don't do that." Jack's voice is tight and angry, even as his fingers keep up their slow, gentle massage. "Don't placate me."

"Fine. We'll _fight_ about this later, but right now you need to calm down otherwise the nurses are going to come and kick me out."

She can hear him grit his teeth, but he also takes some deep breaths. He's making an effort to reign in his temper. It's something.

Sam's fingers find their way into his hair and her nails lightly scratch his scalp. They're both biting their tongues hard, holding back words that are guaranteed to start a fight. She doesn't want to fight with him – not after the rollercoaster ride she's been on for the past two days. She's wrung out physically, mentally and emotionally and even though it's tempting to take it out on him, it wouldn't be fair. After all, the past two days haven't exactly been a walk in the park for Jack either.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here when you woke up."

"You needed the rest."

Sam shakes her head. "I _wanted_ to be here."

"You're here now."

"Always."

* * *

It's not the most unusual meeting with the president that Sam has ever had, but it's pretty close. Technically this is Jack's meeting with the president, but he'd asked to have her here and the president had agreed, so here she is. She's perched on an uncomfortable chair across Jack's hospital bed from the president, trying to put the Secret Service agents arrayed around the room out of her mind.

Jack's face is carefully neutral. She almost believes he's as calm as he's pretending to be, but his white-knuckle hold on the bed sheets tells a different story.

"With all due respect, sir, this conversation is a waste of your time. I can still do my job."

"I'm sure you can." The president leans forward and rests his upper arms on his thighs. It's a pose she's seen countless times on televised town hall meetings. "The question is should you, Jack?"

Sam glances to her right and takes in the slight movement of his jaw as Jack grinds his teeth in frustration.

"Yes."

"Jack…" She needs him to keep his temper in check. It's been a long couple of days and she doesn't have the energy to act as a buffer between the two men.

"This is your life we're talking about," the president continues.

"It always has been." The bark of command is sharp in Jack's voice. He ignores the effect it has on the Secret Service agents and plows on. "I risked my life every day in places I _still _can't talk about on the orders of the guys who used to sit in your office. Then I retired until your predecessor decided to pull me back in and I spent seven years risking my life through the stargate."

"Enough is enough, Jack. You've done more than your share for this country and this planet."

"Look – "

Sam jumps in before Jack can give his commander in chief a piece of his mind. "Mr. President, we both appreciate you making the trip down here to have this conversation in person. We know how busy you are."

She crosses her fingers and hopes like hell the president won't take the brush off as an actual brush off. She prefers to think of it as strategic intervention.

The president looks at her, looks at Jack, then looks at her again. Then he catches the eye of the head of his secret service detail and gives a nod. "I'm afraid I've got a meeting with the NSC so we'll have to continue this conversation later. I'll certainly give some thought to the points you've raised, Jack, and I hope you'll do the same with mine."

Sam can tell it pains him to do it, but Jack responds with a respectful, "Yes, sir."

The president wishes him well with a congenial smile and a warm handshake, pumps Sam's arm a few times, and then beats a hasty retreat. In no time at all, it's just her and Jack listening to the _beep-beep-beep_ of the heart monitor that betrays just how much this meeting has upset him.

"Talk to me," Sam says quietly.

Restless fingers pluck at the pale grey blanket draped over him. Jack is determinedly refuses to meet her gaze. "There's nothing to say."

"I think there is." She eases out of her chair and up onto the side of his bed. "I think the fact that anyone doubts your ability to do your job bothers you."

"I _can_ still do my job."

"I know." Sam slides up the mattress and rests her back against the raised bed. They're shoulder to shoulder, them against the world, just like the good old days. "You _can_ still do your job, but is it worth it, Jack? Is a job you hate really worth dying for?"

"I'll slow down for a while."

"Dr. Watkins said you'll be out of commission for a minimum of six weeks and even then, you won't be up to the kind of schedule you're used to keeping. Plus, it's not like the job is going to be any less stressful six or 12 months from now."

"So what? I retire?"

"You get healthy and take some time to enjoy the planet you've helped save so many times," Sam argues. "You live long enough to see Cassandra finish her PhD and, God help us, get married and have kids for you to spoil rotten."

"I tried retirement. Twice. It didn't stick."

Sam rests her head on his shoulder and twines their fingers together. "The president was right, Jack. You've done enough for this planet. Now it's time to put yourself first and do what's best for _you_."

"I'm not ready to make any decisions right now."

"Fair enough."

Jack squeezes her fingers. "Thanks for stopping me from saying something I'd regret later."

"It's what I do." Sam is quiet for a while, just listening to the heart monitor that's become little more than white noise over the last few days. "For the record, I think retirement might not be so bad this time around."

Jack scoffs. "How do you figure?"

"Well, there's this really great house in Colorado Springs with way more space than the owner needs, and lately she's been thinking it might be nice to have a roommate." Sam glances at him through her eyelashes, trying to gauge his reaction.

It's not an idea she's been kicking around for very long, but it has a certain appeal. She's missed having someone to come home too since transferring back to the SGC.

"You want me to move in?"

His voice is incredulous and Sam is sure she's overstepped. Embarrassed, she tries to walk back the offer. "Forget it. That was a really dumb thing to – "

"Sam."

Her jaw snaps shut, stopping the flow of nervous words. She presses her forehead into the crook of his neck and wishes she could take back the last 30 seconds or so.

"I'm not saying I'm going to retire, but if I did, there's nowhere I'd rather retire to."

Sam lets out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Okay."

"Except for maybe the cabin."

"Right."

"Or that planet with the beach that went on forever and the natives who were _extremely _friendly."

Sam rolls her eyes. "Of course."

"Or maybe…"

"Jack?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

* * *

Sam wakes up to the unsettling sensation of eyes watching her. She rolls her head to left and glances over her shoulder to find Jack staring at her.

He's been home for two days and, much to his chagrin, she's been walking on eggshells around him the whole time. Without the reassuring blips and beeps from the heart monitor she grew so accustomed to while he was in the hospital, Sam is on edge. She has an urge to keep checking on him, to keep making sure he's still okay. They'd both gotten so little sleep last night that Jack had invited her to spend tonight with him, where she could keep an eye on him.

She's still not 100 per cent sure he was being sincere but here she is, stretched out beside him.

"Morning," she murmurs.

"Not exactly." Jack shifts up on to one elbow and adjusts his pillow. "Go back to sleep."

Sam rolls onto her back and raises her arms over her head for a stretch. A quick glance over his shoulder gives her a read on the time. Even by her standards, it's too early to really be considered morning. "Everything okay?"

"Fine. Just thinking."

They haven't talked about her offer to move in together again, and, as far as she knows, he hasn't debated retirement with the others. For her part, Sam's been reluctant to bring it up again. She understands where he's coming from – she'd be lost without her work – but she wishes she had an inkling of what he's thinking. Usually she can read him like an open book but on this, he's keeping his thoughts locked down tight.

"Do you want to…"

Her offer is cut off by the gentle press of his lips to hers. He's gentle and tentative. It's like he's testing the waters and giving her a chance to shut him down if this isn't okay. Sam doesn't need to think about it – kissing him back is the most natural thing in the world. Their mouths move together gently, taking their time to re-learn once familiar territory.

As she responds, Jack relaxes into the kiss. His left hand comes into play, cupping the side of her face and Sam returns the favour, slipping a hand around the back of his head to rest on the nape of his neck. Time slips away but the kiss remains sweet and slow and gentle.

When the need to breathe becomes overwhelming, Jack's pull back. He rests his forehead on hers and sucks in a slow, deep breath. His thumb brushes back and forth across her cheek, just barely grazing her sking. In reply, Sam scratches her nails lightly across his neck.

"That was nice," she murmurs.

"Mmm."

"But chemistry has never really been our problem."

Jack breaks contact, retreating to sprawl on his side of the mattress. He's flat on his back but his eyes stay locked with hers, assuring her that he's not withdrawing from the conversation. "Sometimes I wonder if we'd waited…"

Sometimes she does too. But if they'd waited, they wouldn't have the relationship they do now. Sam wouldn't trade this for anything.

"Remember when we broke up?" Sam rolls onto her stomach and hugs the pillow to her chest. "You asked if I was happy."

Jack nods. He's being patient, giving her the time she needs to make her point. It's a sure sign of just how important this is to him. "You said you weren't _un_happy."

"And I wasn't." Even all these years later, it's important that he understands that. "I was just okay with how things were between us and for a while, I thought that was enough."

His eyes are focused wholly on her and it's hard not to squirm under the scrutiny. Sam breaks away first, shifting her gaze to stare intently at the sheets. One long thin finger traces the swirling pattern that unwinds across the worn fabric as she carefully considers her next words.

"I'm happy now, Jack. This – what we have now – is what I want."

She's afraid to look at him because she really doesn't know what's been going on in his head lately. If kissing her was his opening gambit in trying to rekindle their relationship, she's just shot him down. Hurting him is the last thing she wants to do but she's not wiling to sacrifice a cherished friendship for the sake of a romance that's already crashed and burned once.

It's nerve-wracking to lay there waiting for Jack to react. She's just about ready to get up and fake a very important call with the SGC, even though it's just after 0100 there and he'd see right through the ruse anyway. Then his warm palm slides across the back of her restless hand and his fingers twine around hers, stilling their motion.

She chances a peek at his face. It's a relief to find warmth and understanding there.


	15. October 2015

**October 2015**

They've been sitting across from one another for the past 20 minutes. The only sounds in the kitchen are the gentle crunches of two sets of teeth chewing cereal and the occasional clink of a spoon against the bottom of a bowl.

Jack finds himself wishing for the phone to ring or her cell to dance across the table. He's known it's coming for a while now, but he's still hoping for a last minute reprieve.

He's three months into retirement and so far he's managed to avoid going completely stir crazy. The freedom took a while to get used to, but he's found things to fill his days and created new routines that don't revolve around an office he hates going to or an endless march of meetings that make him want to pull his hair out.

His part-time consulting gig on a handful of training programs keeps him in the loop on the happenings at the SGC. Throw the assortment of youth groups he's started volunteering with into the mix and it makes for a schedule that's both filled and fulfilling, not to mention fun.

But just because he's doing okay with retirement so far doesn't mean he's prepared for Sam's first business trip.

She's had a relatively smooth transition into her new role as the head of Homeworld Security. Most of the IOA reps have even been on their best behavior lately. Jack puts it down to the fact that turnover in the group is low and most of them feel at least a little bit bad about how they handled her removal from command of the Atlantis expedition.

Sam hadn't been a willing successor but she's growing into her new job a little more every day. She'd fought Jack and the president when they'd first approached her about taking over. Citing her short tenure as SGC commander and the single star on each shoulder, she'd argued that she was too junior to take the job. Jack's reminder that he'd had even less time running the SGC under his belt before _he'd_ taken over Homeworld Security had gone over like a bag of hammers. The president had been more tactful, assuring her that her hardware wouldn't be an issue and then sending her home to think about it.

It had taken another week and a half, but in the end, Jack had convinced her she was the logical choice. Yes, she was young for the post relative to him and George Hammond, but she'd also started accumulating other worldly experiences a hell of a lot earlier than either of them had. Plus, she was the only person on the planet with experience commanding an SG field unit, the Atlantis expedition, a vessel in Earth's interstellar fleet _and _Stargate Command. She was much better prepared for the job than he or Hammond had ever been. Eventually, she'd agreed with him.

It took a while for her to find her feet, but now even Sam will agree that this post is the perfect fit for her. She's still able to look out for their people, but now she holds real sway when it comes to budgets and resource allocations. Best of all, the other people in the room put a lot of stock in her experience. When Sam says the program needs something, nobody pushes back quite as hard as they ever did when he was in charge. Funding for every branch of Homeworld Security has increased since she took over. At this point, if anybody is wanting for anything it's because they never bothered asking for it.

On scientific matters, her reputation as a leader in the field of extraterrestrial technology is invaluable. Sure, the IOA member countries occasionally trot out an expert of their own, but more often than not, they defer to her expertise. She's got a lot more time to be involved in the science of it all than she ever had when she was running the SGC, and even though it's not the hands on lab work she loves, she's thriving.

Jack knows she still loses sleep worrying over how she'll handle her first planetary crisis, but those jitters are healthy. She's as ready as anybody can be – a truth he reminds her of at least once a week.

He knows that she's afraid one day she'll be out maneuvered and that everything they've worked so hard and sacrificed so much for will suffer for her mistakes. He also knows that she worries she's gotten the job because she's a pretty, non-threatening face to put on a scary sounding military program that can't stay secret forever. He's made it a point to try and convince her otherwise, but whether she's buying it is anybody's guess.

Sam drops her spoon into her bowl and shoves it away. Between the sharp metallic clatter and the angry china squeaking across the wooden tabletop, Jack starts.

"What if I screw the negotiations up?"

She's off to Beijing for her first round of talks negotiating team allocations for a more multinational Stargate Command. For the past two weeks, she's been agonizing over whether she'll be ready to play hardball with the IOA when the other members decide to stop playing nice with the new kid at the table.

"You won't," Jack says simply.

Her confidence is still a bit shaky, but he knows for a fact that she can recite the president's position in her sleep. She's done it twice in the last week. Besides which, Cavanaugh has folder after folder of historic data and future projections packed up and ready to go. If there's something Sam needs to know that she doesn't already have committee to memory, all she has to do is ask.

"I've never been the diplomat, Jack."

"You could have fooled me," he retorts. "Look at everything you've accomplished so far."

"They've been going easy on me. And all I've done so far is convince them to make up for the years of funding shortfalls they've been forcing on us since we beat the Ori. This is going to be different."

"_Carter…"_ he drawls the warning.

She opens her mouth to protest but is interrupted by the buzz of her cell skittering across the table. She snatches it up and answers, all cool efficiency. There's no trace of her uncertainties in her voice, and _that's _how Jack knows she's going to be okay heading up Homeworld Security. Despite what she thinks, she knows how to shove aside all her fears and doubts and be the calm, cool and collected Air Force general the people counting on her need her to be.

While she deals with the call, Jack clears their bowls and loads them into the dishwasher. The mid-sized Washington apartment he's called "home" for so many years isn't the retirement destination he'd had in mind, but it's where Sam is. She's home to him, even if it's not quite the way he used to imagine his retirement.

He's happy, ecstatic even, that they've finally reached a place where they can be themselves. They both enjoy their unconventional relationship; to hell with what anybody else thinks.

Behind him, Sam disconnects her call and pushes her chair back from the table. He can hear her slip her feet into her regulation heels and knows without her having to say a word that her car is here. He turns to face her, dreading the moment when she walks out the door and leaves him to his own devices for two whole weeks.

Before Jack can even think about cracking a really terrible joke to break the sudden tension, she's crossed the kitchen to stand in front of him. He hugs her tight and wishes for a split second that they were different people.

But as much as he used to like imagining what it would be like to retire, marry Sam and have 2.4 kids and a dog and spend every summer in Minnesota, he would never give up the lives they have now. He has her in every way that really counts. It's enough.

"Take care of yourself. No pizza and beer binge nights just because I'm not here to rat you out to Dr. Watkins." She's aiming for levity, but it falls flat.

"I'll be good," he promises. "Cass will make sure of it."

Cassandra took thorough notes on her mother's tactics for dealing with Jack, and he has no doubt that the long weekend she'll be spending with him will include all sorts of fine heart healthy cuisine. It's really not fair – when _he_ used to babysit _her_, he'd fill her up with junk food and keep it their little secret.

"I'll call when we land."

"I'll be fine, Sam. Really." Jack squeezes her hard. "So will you. You're ready."

She takes a deep breath and steps back, squaring the shoulders that now bear two stars apiece. She flashes him a smile that shivers with barely contained nerves, and then the last traces of Sam are gone.

He's standing before Major General Carter – an officer he's had a hand in molding for nearly two decades. Over the years, Jack has asked her to do the impossible and watched her deliver time and time again. Now the time has come to ask the easiest thing in the world of her.

"Go be brilliant."

She flashes him the bright smile that still has the ability to take his breath away, even after all these years.

He helps her gather up her bags and load up the car that Cavanaugh insists Sam use rather than driving herself around town. Sam hugs him one more time and then she's gone.

Jack slowly saunters back up to their apartment and closes the door behind him. He draws a deep breath and takes in the silence. It's going to take a while to get used to having the place to himself again, but he will.

This is what they do. They take turns leaving one another but they always come back. He knows now that they can hold on to the warmth and friendship they've built between them, no matter how far apart they are or for how long.

They'll be okay. Always.


End file.
